LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





1 







Wayside Jottings. 



Essays, Sketches, Poems and Songs, 



GATHERED FROM THE 



Highways, By-ways # Hedges of Life, 



BY MATTIE E. HULL. 



'Go and take the little book which is open in the hand of the angel." 




DES MOINES: 

MOSES HULL AND COMPANY. 

188b. 






COPYKIGHT 

By MOSES HULL & CO. 

1888. 



IOWA PRINTING COMPANY, 
STEEEOTYPEKS. 



TO Mr MOTHER, WHO BORE ME, 

AND 

PROM WHOSE LOVE-LIFE MY SOUL WAS MOULDED ; 

TO THE COMPANION WHO CAME IN MY RIPER YEARS, 

AND 

' WHOSE LOVE AND DEVOTION HAS BEEN IN PART MY 

INSPIRATION ; 

TO THE MANY, WHO, THROUGH GOOD AND EVIL REPORT, 

HAVE PROVED LOYAL TO FRIENDSHIP, 

AND 

TO THE SFIRIT FRIENDS WHO HAVE HELD WATCH AND GUARD 

OVER ME, 

IS 

THIS VOLUME LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 



MY BOOK. 



My book; at last I give it to the world; 
Full well I know its im perfections all, 
But ev'ry page is of my love inspired. 
Perhaps some of its simple rhymes may build 
A hope and joy within a saddered heart, 
Or flash a gleam across the dismal way, 
Where tired feet wander over burning sands. 

My Jottings are but thoughts on common things 
Gathered at intervals on life's highway. 
In many places my wand'ring feet have trod; 
I've climbed the mountains and I've walked the vale, 
Basked in the sunshine, groped neath shadows dim ; 
Have feasted in the halls of wealth and pride, 
And broken bread within the humblest cot; 
Have laughed with those who quaffed the cup of joy, 
And shed my tears with sorrow's stricken ones; 
From every scene I've borne some tender thought 
And garnered it at will, so now it finds 
A place within my book. 

There have been times — they were delightful 
hours — 



viii My Book. 

When my companion and myself have turned 
Away from men, from books and household cares, 
To listen to the spirit's inner voice. 
And I have striven e'er to clothe the thought 
That we have gathered on the sunbright shores 
In garb most fitting for the outer world. 
But 1 have failed, for neither tongue nor pen 
Can speak or write, the language of the soul. 

Many a page was once a sweet baptism, 
That came amid the toil of some dark dav; 
And if within them there should prove to be 
One sentence that inspires a nobler thought, 
Or plants a hope in the despairing soul 
Or kindles one emotion of sweet love, 
Then glad I'll be my little book was born. 

I do not claim my little book contains 
The gems and jewels, heaven has given to me; 
I only give to earth the weak refrain 
Of music, that my inmost being holds; 
Poems there are upon each page of Life, 
Translated truly they can never be. 
To thee, O world, I give my little book, 
Nor do I offer it with trembling hand; 
My friends, I trust, will faithfully commend, 
Not what I did, but what I strove to do. 

Mattie E. Hull. 



CONTENTS. 



INTRODUCTION, By Moses Hull xn 

The Spirit Land 19 

The Rise, Progress and Mission of Spiritualism . . 21 

My Weaving 35 

Is the Prohibitory Measure a Reformatory One ? . 37 

Solitude 40 

A Medium's Happiest Hour 41 

Fireside Musings 42 

A Question 47 

The Blues 49 

Nature's Temple 52 

Women in Government 54 

Give Me One View of the Beautiful City 59 

In Memoriam 60 

New Year's Eve. — Reveries 61 

Go Forth 64 

The Promise 65 

Convictions 66 

Wait '. 68 

This "Land of Shadows" 69 

'•The Glorious Fourth" 71 

After the Storm 73 

A Beautiful Thought 74 

Across the Way 76 

To My Mother 78 

The End 80 

Birthday Meditations 82 

A Beautiful Angel Comes to Me 85 

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity 87 

Love Missives 90 

My Blessings 92 

Boston's Revival 94 

Inscribed to a Young Girl 97 

Love S< >ngs 99 

Desolation 102 

The New Kingdom 104 



Contents. 



It was only one Word 107 

Stray Thoughts 108 

"Go into the Highways and Hedges." 110 

Nothing to Do 112 

By and Bye 214 

Inscribed to My Mother 115 

Grammar Lessons 117 

Moody and Fallen Women 119 

Who Cares? 123 

A Prayer 124 

Spiritualism 126 

Portrait 134 

His Shadow 135 

The Old and the New 137 

Family Meeting 139 

Male and Female Prisons 144 

At the Play 119 

Questioning 151 

Ourselves 152 

I Am Watching O'er You, Mother 155 

Spiritualists and Mediums 157 

A Home Call 161 

Give Us Light 162 

My Box of Treasures 169 

Science vs. Christianity 173 

October 183 

Sorrow 184 

Plain Truths 185 

Gloaming Fancies 188 

If I Should Die 190 

Thoughtlessness 191 

Labor and Wait 192 

Sculpturing '194 

In the Past 195 

We Heard The Angels 197 

Down by the Sea 199 

Death's Stream Bridged 201 

Shout the Glorious Tidings 202 

The Beautiful Land 203 

Beautiful Shore 204 

Invocation 205 

Spirit Lights 206 

Shall I Know Mine Own? 207 



INTRODUCTION. 



There are two things which, for sixteen years, 
Mrs. Hull has persistently urged that I must do; 
one is, I must write the introduction to her book. 
My slowness in promising this, and my dilatoriness 
in undertaking the task may have been one of the 
chief causes of several years' delay in its publication. 

The second demand is that when she and her 
physical body part company, I must assist in form- 
ing the magnetic stair-way on which she is to as- 
cend to "that better country," by making the last 
remarks ever made in the presence of her mortal 
remains. The former of these requests I am now 
attempting to gratify; the latter, I hope will be de- 
layed long enough for her to lead many to the higher 
life, while yet in the world of flesh and blood. This 
oft repeated request I record here in order to save 
explanations on that occasion, should it come. The 
only ground on which I have any expectation of 
dodging the fulfillment of this request is that I m-ay 



XII 



Introduction. xiii 



"have finished my course" on earth before she 
readies the end of her journey. 

This book is peculiar, and written under peculiar 
circumstances. The author is a born medium. She 
seldom knows when she is going to write, or what 
will be written. Before she had ever heard of me- 
diumship, she had what was called "the gift of mak- 
ing poetry." "When a little girl, in school, she could 
almost at auy time sit down and write a poetic 
composition; other girls, her seniors in age and in 
studies, would help her get her lessons as part pay 
for her writing their compositions. 

At the early age of thirteen, she began to sit in 
private circles in a neighbor's house; at the second 
sitting, she was thrown into an unconscious trance, 
and talked to the people. This was kept up at in- 
tervals for nearly a year, when her father, Mr. 
Henry E. Browne, was induced to take her into the 
public as a phenomenon, and let people judge for 
themselves as to what this power was, and whence 
it came. 

The Rev. Mr. O'Daniels, a Unitarian minister, 
of Athol, Mass., urged Mr. Browne to bring his 
"little girl" to his church, and he would announce 
her and take charge of the meeting. He had re- 
cently buried his wife, and other members of his 
family, and was anxious to know what had become 
of them. "When the time came for the meeting, 



xiv Introduction. 



the church was crowded with interested listeners 
and curiosity seekers. The reverend gentleman, af- 
ter cautioning the little girl several times not to be 
frightened, and assuring her that nothing would 
harm her, opened the meeting by reading a hymn 
for the choir to sing, and prayer. By the time he 
was throno-h Mattie was in an unconscious trance, 
and never awoke until after the audience had been 
dismissed. 

Although she had been assisted to get upon a 
box which had been placed in the pulpit for her to 
stand on, so that her head would come np above 
the desk, in front of her, and had spoken an hour, 
she could not realize that she had been out of her 
seat. Reporters took down every word that had 
passed through the child's lips. Reading that and 
other discourses spoken by herself when in an un- 
conscious trance made Mattie a Spiritualist. 

At this time Mattie's school education w r as not 
finished; in the academy, after this, Spiritualism 
proved both an advantage and a disadvantage to 
her; for while her invisible teachers assisted her 
in getting all her lessons, the young ladies of the 
school, Mount Caesar Seminary, as well as others, 
were almost constantly pleading with her to be en- 
tranced u just this one time." 

For seven years after Mattie left school she lec- 
tured as an unconscious trance medium. After that 



Introduction. xv 



she gradually developed into consciousness, and from 
that into the inspirational phase, which she still has, 
to as great an extent as ever. Indeed, I may say 
that lately, a newer, better, and fresher inspiration 
comes to her than ever before. She seems not to de- 
pend on persons coming to her from the spirit side 
of life, but reaches out into the realm of the spir- 
itual, at will. Her own spirit seems to mala' ex- 
cursions into the world of spirituality, and to pe- 
ruse the books, and gather for herself the wisdom 
therein contained. She is firmly convinced that 
a higher and more satisfactory phase of Spiritualism 
is awaiting those, who, instead of sitting down and 
asking and waiting for spirits to conic, will move 
forward and take what is awaiting them. 

1 first met Mattie some eighteen years ago, since 
which time we have become somewhat intimate; 
and probably I know as much of the origin of the 
various essays and poems in this book as any one 
except herself can know. It is to give this that I 
am now writing. 

In 1872 we became companions, as we believe — 
as we know — under the direction of the angel world, 
and in accordance with our own feelings, to remain 
companions during the time of their and our spir- 
its' bidding; whether that should be for a day or for 
a thousand years. The ceremony which ratified our 
union was unique; we consulted neither the law nor 



XVI 



Introduction. 



the gospel of man; yet when tested in the New Jer- 
sey courts, our worst enemies found it impossible to 
break the legality of the tie. The powers which at 
that time brought us together, as yet give no indica- 
tion that our work for and with each other is ended. 

u These were the times that tried men's souls." 
Through the deep waters of persecution and pov- 
erty we have walked together the sixteen years dur- 
ing which these essays and poems have been writ- 
ten. Indeed, many of them were born out of the 
darkest and deepest waters of adversity. It would 
take a book much larger than this to hold the his- 
tory of some of them. 

Once upon a time, we went to a ]\ T ew England 
village to hold a discussion; the opponent proved 
to be not able for the work he had undertaken. As 
the churches had boasted very loudly in advance, 
as to how Spiritualism was to be "used up," they 
were terribly chagrined and wrathy over their de- 
feat. This culminated in a series of persecutions 
ending in an attempt on my life, which came near 
being successful. I was knocked down with a brick 
and supposed to be wounded beyond the possibility 
of recovery. In the midst of this darkness and tur- 
moil, when we were without "purse or scrip," and 
with few friends, lighting, almost single handed and 
alone, several thousand foes in and out of the church, 
Mattie looked up, and stopped, for we were walking 



Introduction. xvn 



at the time, and said: "A voice says: "There is 
light ahead.'" I said: '"Yes, if light is anywhere 
it is surely ahead ; it is not here." She immediately 
began to repeat: 

"When the way seems dark and drear, 
And hours are filled with sorrow." 

The words and music both came at the same time. 
The music we have not been able to print. 

Music is one of her special gifts; she frequently 
sits down at the organ and takes subjects from the 
audience and composes both words and music as 
fast as she can sing. 

Many of the poems herein contained, were given 
in audiences, on subjects selected for her. On such 
occasions I have never known her to fail ; Sometimes 
she repeats the poem as she hears it spoken ; at other 
times she delivers it as she is impressed. 

The jottings have been written at intervals, "as 
the spirit gave utterance." Not a moment's prep- 
aration was ever made for an article. When the 
spirit has said to her, "write," she has obeyed. On 
the cars, in meetings, at the wash-tub, or wherever 
she has chanced to be at the time the "fit" has taken 
her to write, she has written. This may partly ac- 
count for the variety of subjects introduced, and the 
diversity in the mode of treatment. 

Mrs. Hull grows more and more into the idea 

that there is nothing supernatural in Spiritualism — 
2 



xviii Introduction. 



that even here and now we are all spirits, as much 
as we ever will be; and that the true province of 
Spiritualism is not so much to call spirits from "the 
vasty deep," and interview them, as it is to teach 
us to circumnavigate and get acquainted with our 
own spiritual existence. 

To this end she is now devoting; much of her time. 
"Know thyself," is now her daily text; she is try- 
ing to make the remainder of her life expound its 
mysteries. She has seemed in a hurry to get this 
book before the world, partly for the good it may do, 
and partly because she has regarded it as, in a cer- 
tain sense, her "last will and testament." 

Now, she and I unitedly launch this little volume, 
hoping it may cheer the downcast ; bind up the brok- 
en-hearted; comfort the mourner and beguile many 
a weary hour of the wayworn traveler. To this end, 
this book goes out, with our magnetism, our pray- 
ers and our blessings. Moses Hull. 
Des Moines, Iowa, Jan. 1, 1888. 



THE SPIRIT LAND. 



Of the spirit land all gleaming, 
Mortals here are faintly dreaming 
Nearer nearer is it seeming, 

As we tread life's mazes o'er; 
And the heart grows still and tender, 
All the soul is filled with wonder 
As our eyes behold the splendor, 

When the angels ope the door. 

Tossed upon Time's surging ocean, 
When its waves were all commotion, 
Oft we prayed in blind devotion, 

That our God from Heaven's store, 
Might commission some sweet angel, 
To come down — our soul's evangel 
Lifting from our hearts the shadow, 

That seemed deepening, Evermore. 

Faith was blind! our tears were falling 
Deaf — we did not hear the calling 
Of sweet voices 'mid the rolling 
Of the breakers and the roar; 

19 



20 The Spirit Zand. 

Lov'd ones all around us dying, 
Stranded wrecks, life's vessels, lying, 
Constantly our souls were crying, 

Give me back mine own once more! 

When it seemed that all was given, 

That our lives had vainly striven 

For one answering voice from Heaven, 

And we sank heart-sick and sore; 
Hovered loving ones around us, 
Mid grief's bitterest waves they crown 'd us 
With a magic word they bound us, 

To their soul-world, Evermore. 

Oh, the spirit land so near us, 
With its love and smiles to cheer us, 
Ever lifting up the shadows 

That so blinded us before; 
May its angels — those who love us, 
Seek in their own way to prove us, 
Only keeping just above us, 

With "hope's watchword, Evermore." 



THE KISE, PROGRESS AND MISSION OF 
SPIRITUALISM. 



Thirty-nine years ago we received the first 
tangible evidence of man's existence beyond the 
grave as presented by what is called Modern Spir- 
itualism. The first manifestation on the phenome- 
nal line was a rap. It came unheralded and un- 
sought; no pulpit endorsed it; not a press could 
explain it. The instrumentalities through which 
the strange phenomenon was produced were two lit- 
tle girls not yet in their teens. Their parents 
were humble persons — church members. Not long 
after these peculiar vibrations had attracted the 
attention of a few persons outside the family, it 
was ascertained that the power behind them was an 
intelligent one, that it could not only produce 
sounds, but see and hear. 

The claim was made that the manifestations were 
from a departed human spirit; that the raps were 
spirit raps. No sooner was this intelligence given 
to the world than committees were appointed to 
investigate by what means departed human spirits 

21 



22 The Rise, Progress and 

produced these sounds. They were not long in 
forming their conclusions; and, being very wise 
men, they declared that the rapping was not caused 
by spirits at all, but by the toe-joints of little 
Margaret and Katie Fox. 

It occurred to some sensible people that with all 
the toe-joints in the world, some one else ought to 
do as much as these little girls. Furthermore, 
suppose the girls had the power of cracking their 
toe-joints, as reported by the committee, how were 
they able to communicate names, dates and events? 
How did they know that a certain peddlar was 
killed and deposited in a cellar? Indeed, the little 
girls had very knowing toes, for such intelligence 
was given, and in the cellar designated, the remains 
of a human body were found. The report of the 
investigating committee was unsatisfactory and a 
second one was appointed. The second committee 
came out with a report that I might embody in two 
resolutions: 

1. Resolved, That the first committee was mis- 
taken. 

2. Resolved, That the rappings are not occa- 
sioned by the toe-joints, but by the knee-joints. 

The general opinion came to be, that the second 
committee was as badly deluded as the first had 
been. Converts were being rapidly made to the 
Spiritualistic theory; mediums were developed in a 



Mission of Spirtiualism. 23 

great many places, and for a long time the only 
mode of communication with our spirit friends was 
through the rappings. But how thankful were the 
denizens of earth for this privilege. As the clouds 
lifted from one soul after another, as the scales fell 
now and then from a pair of eyes, how we learned 
to appreciate the blessed light that came in the 
philosophy of Spiritualism. 

After the world had apparently settled down in 
a state of apathy on the subject, it was startled by 
another manifestation. A table moved without 
any visible agency. By and by other ponderous 
substances were moved in the same way. Of 
course, this gave rise to new discussions; self-ap- 
pointed committees flocked to the rooms where these 
wonderful manifestations were obtained. 

The phenomena was attributed to various causes. 
Some called the power an unknown psychic power, 
others electricity, and others od-force; while among 
the strictly orthodox people. Spiritualism was gen- 
erally set down as the work of the devil. 

Some of our opponents at the present time con- 
tend that the physical manifestations are produced 
by electricity, but we find that it is as difficult for 
them to define electricity as it is to define spirit. 
Electricity is a powerful agent; it not only carries 
messages from state to state, but its strong arm 
pulsates under the sea. A message sent to the old 



24 The Rise, Progress and 

world receives a response in a single hour through 
the rnediumship of the cable, buried under the 
waves of the ocean. But mark you, there must be 
an operator at each end of the wire. How was the 
table made to weigh a certain number of pounds 
per request? How was it that any article of fur- 
niture in the room, without an intelligence back of 
the power moving it, could be made to change its 
position so many inches to the north, south, east 
or west? 

These questions, together with the manifesta- 
tions, interested a new class of minds on behalf of 
Spiritualism; mediums became numerous; circles 
were formed in nearly every community; many a 
home was baptized with the sweet ministry of an- 
gels; crude may have been the means employed in 
the early days of Spiritualism by the dear departed, 
but how many stones were rolled away from 
gloomy sepulchres; how many prison walls were 
scaled; how many bolts and bars of prejudice and 
opposition were broken, as the dear departed one 
after another bridged the silent river and returned 
to love and bless the stricken friends. 

After awhile the Dial was introduced which was 
a machine arranged similar to the dial of a clock, 
with letters instead of figures and hands upon its 
face. In the center there was an index finger made 
of steel which was operated upon by the spiritual 



Mission of Spiritualism. 25 

and magnetic forces of the circle. The communi- 
cations were obtained much more rapidly through 
the dial than by either rapping or tipping. This 
method of communication with the spirit-world 
was thought at onetime to be almost a perfect one. 
No one had anticipated the psychometrical devel- 
opment and intuitive unfoldment that crowns our 
glorious philosophy at the present time. 

As fast as mortals were ready to receive, the 
spirit friends revealed new truths and handed down 
spiritual gifts. On one occasion, while a few 
faithful investigators were seated around a table, a 
lady was seized with a peculiar sensation in the 
hand and arm. In a few moments it was com- 
pletely paralyzed. At first, every person in the 
circle was frightened, but the message came 
through the table, "It is all right." In a few mo- 
ments the lady commenced in a mechanical way to 
move her hand. Some one suggested that she be 
given a pencil; no sooner was it placed in her 
hand than she attempted to write; after numer- 
ous attempts, a few words were imperfectly writ- 
ten, but a name appeared which proved to be the 
signature of a dear, departed friend of a mem- 
ber of the circle. From that time on, communica- 
tion after communication was given to persons in 
earth life, purporting to come from those on the 
o^her bide, of whom the medium had no knowledge. 



26 The Rise Progress and 

Thousands of diagnoses and as many medical pre- 
scriptions for the sick have been given through 
mechanical writing mediums. This phase of spir- 
itual mediumship came to be more common than 
those heretofore developed. By this time the world 
was intensely agitated over these strange phenom- 
ena. The minister who thought he had met every 
fact up to this time, with Bible argument, went 
again to his study and searched the Scriptures in 
the vain endeavor to find some new explanation. 
The chemist, who was egotistical enough to think 
he had solved the problems of rapping and table- 
tipping, resorted to his laboratory to make new ex- 
periments. No sooner had the opponents come out 
with a new theory than the phase of entrancement 
was developed. 

Personally, I have had, what seems to me, a re- 
markable mediumistic experience. 1 will not go in- 
to detail here. Suffice it to say, I was converted to 
a knowledge of Spiritualism through my own en- 
trancements — by the reading of discourses given 
through my organism when I was in what seemed 
to me an unconscious condition. I commenced my 
public work in Spiritualism when thirteen years of 
age. During my first year's experience, many of my 
addresses were phonographically reported — I stud- 
ied them after they were sent me by the reporters; 
these brought about my conversion. 



Mission of Spiritualism. 27 

I cannot take the time in this essay to enumer- 
ate the many phases of mediumship that have been 
developed within a quarter of a century. Proba- 
bly no phase.has ever engendered so much dissen- 
sion as that of materialization. Psychometry is 
being developed rapidly among a certain class of 
mediums. This will undoubtedly prove one of the 
most useful among the many phases. In its de- 
velopment, lo! the hidden shall be revealed; the 
masks shall fall from our lives, and we shall be 
known as we are. Independent slate-writing is 
always satisfactory to an honest skeptic. The an- 
swering of sealed letters has done much to enlighten 
the world on these wonderful powers. The spirit 
communications received through the telegraph, 
while the instrument is secured in a box, is one of 
the latest developments in mediumship and is con- 
vincing;. 

No belief has ever made the progress that Spir- 
itualism has in the same length of time. When we 
consider the thousands of homes that have been 
blessed by the loving ministrations of our philos- 
ophy; the souls that have been made to rejoice; 
the burdens that have been lifted; the paths that 
have been brightened, we must conclude that Spir- 
itualism came to the world with a grand mission. 
When we consider the quality of many of the con- 
verts our cause has enlisted, we ought to feel that 



28 The Iiise, Progress and 

we have a guarantee of future usefulness and suc- 
cess. The opponents of Spiritualism have fre- 
quently affirmed that the majority of men and wo- 
men who become interested in our philosophy are 
persons of weak mental calibre. It may not be out 
of place to incorporate an extract from a carefully 
selected paper, written for and used at the anni- 
versary celebration, held in Ottumwa, Iowa, March 
31st, 1886, by Dr. Perry Engle, of Newton, Iowa. 
In answer to the question, "Who are Spiritualists?" 
he says: 

Among eminent statesmen and tmilanthropists who 
were or are Spiritualists, we find Wm. Lloyd Garrison, 
Gerrett Smith, Parker Pillsbury, Geo. Thompson, Lord 
Brougham, Garibaldi, Victor Hugo, Abraham Lincoln, 
Andrew Johnson, Benjamin F. Wade, Henry Wilson, 
Joshua R. Giddings, old Robert Owen, Robert Dale 
Owen, Salmon P. Chase, N. P. Banks, Geo. W. Julian, 
Senator Howard, of Mich., Senator Harris, of Louisi- 
ana and Senator Stanford, of California. 

Among the crowned heads and nobles, we find the 
late Emperor Alexander, of Russia, Emperor Louis 
Napolean, M. Thiers, ex-President of France, Queen 
Victoria, Baron Von Tchick, of Austria, Von Der Bink, 
of Holstein. 

Among the eminent jurists, we find Judge John W. 
Edmunds, of the New York Supreme Court, Judge 
Lawrence and Judge Ladd. 

Among the scientists, we find Alfred Russell Wal- 
lace, the naturalist, Cromwell F. Varley, the electri- 
cian, Hermann Goldsmith, the astronomer, William 
Crookes, the great chemist, Prof. F. Zollner, of Leipsic, 
author of "Transcendental Physics", Von Esenbeck, 
President of the Royal Academy of Sciences, Germnny, 
Alexander Von Humboldt, Dr. Hoeflle, the encyclope- 
dist, Prof. Worthen, State Geologist, 111., Prof. Plu- 
mierian, Professor of Astronomy, Cambridge, Eng., 



Mission of Spiritualism. 29 



Dr. J. L. Robertson, editor of the Journal of Medical 
Science, Eng. ; Prof. Scheilbner, the world renowned 
teacher of mathematics in the University of Leipsic. 
Are these men weak-minded, superstitious or bad ?" 
Among the noted physicians we find the following: 
Dr. J. M. Gully, England; Dr. Julius Franenstadt, 
Germany; Dr. Geo. Sexton, London; Dr. G. W. Lang- 
don, Baden, Germany. 

Among the distinguished literary and artistic celeb- 
rities we find Gerald Massey, Wm. and Mary Howitt, 
English poets; Jules Verne, the great French author; 
Robert Chambers, of Chamber's Magazine; Grace 
Greenwood; H. Kiddle, for many years Superintend- 
ent of the public schools of New York City; Rev. Dr. 
Eliakin Phelps; Bayard Taylor; Mr. Plympton, editor 
of the Cincinnati Commercial; Mr. Story, late editor 
of the Chicago Times; Don Piatt, editor of the "Wash- 
ington Capital; Dr. Kane, the Arctic explorer, hus- 
band of Margaret Fox, the first medium. 

We might with propriety claim John Wesley, the 
founder of Methodism; Swedenborg, the philosopher 
a. id seer, and Jesus Christ, the teacher and healer. 

Should Spiritualism and the world be ashamed of 
such a galaxy of bright intellects'? Have we not giv- 
en enough to show "who are Spiritualists?" 

The writings of the Lest American and English 
poets teem with the inspiration that characterizes 
Spiritualism. The leading ideas are woven in 
hymn and song. Our beloved Longfellow wrote: 

"When the hours of day are numbered 

And the voices of the night, 
Wake the holy soul that slumbered 

To a holy calm delight; 
Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door; 
The beloved ones, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more." 

He also wrote that "All houses wherein men 
have lived and died are haunted houses." Whit- 



30 The Rise, Progress and 

tier and Tennyson have written most beautifully 
the spiritualistic sentiments in their verses. 

Spiritualism has captured many a pulpit. It 
found its way in our Nation's trying hour to the 
Executive Mansion. It has spoken to the Queen 
on her throne, while to millions of earth's sorrow- 
ing ones it has carried the consolation that no other 
religion ever possessed. On, on, its great tidal 
wave sweeps, bearing on its crested billows the re- 
flection of heaven, bright with the sunny smiles 
and starry eyes of our loved ones. 

Swing back, sweet spirits, the shadowy curtain, 
That veils this world from the great beyond; 

Show us the land across the dim waters, 
Where all the loved we call dead are gone. ' 

They may often speak yet we do riot hear them, 

Amid the harshness and the din; 
They may bend so near, yet we cannot see them 

"When eyes with burning tears are dim. 

Come to us, and whisper a tender message, 
While our souls utter a silent prayer, 

Aid us to know, O, spirit guardians, 
Your love may seek us everywhere. 

Concerning the mission of Spiritualism, we are 
fast learning that it means something more than 
to demonstrate immortality. Of course, the fun- 
damental idea is that spirits can communicate with 
mortals. Spiritualism has come to make the 



Mission of Spiritualism. 31 

world better; to lead humanity to a purer life; to 
teach the science of reform; to introduce a revolu- 
tion in the religious, political and social world. It 
teaches us that there is no positive evil, and none 
totally depraved; that the best people on earth un- 
der bad conditions will do bad things: that the 
worst people on earth under good conditions may 
do good things. 

Spiritualism takes hold of the subtle forces of 
life. It speaks to the inner man or woman, reveal- 
ing hitherto hidden laws. Under its administra- 

© 

tion we are learning that evil passions and wicked 
thoughts may wield a potent influence though never 
outwardly expressed. Sensitives suffer from psy- 
chological impressions, and there is not a day but 
that some poor soul is stricken down by rankling, 
contending influences from positive spirits in the 
body. People frequently get sick and cannot tell 
why; they suffer mental depressions, endure soul 
agonies and wearisome heart-aches, without divining 

© ' © 

the true cause. We are often thrown into morbid, 

inharmonious conditions, by coming in contact 

with antagonizing influences, no matter how silent 
© © 

they may be. We say it is wrong to kill ; yes, and 

the time is coming when we will learn it is dan- 

© 

gerous to think kill. The individual would be 
called a criminal who would drop a grain of poi- 
son in the glass of water he offered me to quench 



32 The Rise, Progress and 

my thirst, and, from a spiritual standpoint, the one 
who poisons my mental or soul atmosphere is as 
guilty of wrong. Insanity and death are frequently 
the result of soul poisoning. 

I would impress my Christian friends with the 
idea that to be a Spiritualist in its grandest sense, 
requires all the courage and strength of the human 
soul. We believe in no scheme of salvation. Every 
man, woman and child must take the consequences 
of his or her own acts. We claim that every per- 
son's morality must be guaged by a test of their own 
honor, virtue and integrity. We # believe that a 
fountain of inspiration is somewhere in the depths 
of every human soul. Do you ask what kind of a 
religion Spiritualism develops for humanity? I an- 
swer: It will be based upon the necessities of the 
hour. 

Do not imao-ine that any sect, party, clique or 
ring can lay a track over which the car of progress 
is to run. No evangelical shrine can mortgage its 
free spirit. Its territory is an eminent domain and 
it will cleave the way in spite of organizations, par- 
ties and institutions which stand in the way of the 
development of the race. 

Our opponents claim that Spiritualism desecrates 
homes and has no reo-ard for the sacredness of the 

o 

affections. Spiritualism never severed one chain 
that was forged in love. It never desecrated one 



Mission of Spiritualism. 33 

family altar where the fires of spiritual love were 
burning. I know of hundreds of homes that are 
brighter and happier to-day because of the minis- 
trations of Spiritualism. There is no more precious 
relation on earth than that of true marriage. None 
so desecrating, so terrible as the false or inharmo- 
ious conjugal relation. True marriage means re 
spect, equality and abiding, trusting love. In true 
marriage there is no dependence, but inter-depend- 
ence. In homes where such marriages obtain, the 
spirit of love finds pastime in toil, and delight in 
serving. Spiritualism rightly interpreted can dese- 
crate no spot on earth, dishonor no love and crush 
out no impulse of goodness. It teaches men and 
women how to live; It crowns man with a noble 
fatherhood and woman with a sweeter, purer mother- 
hood. It unfolds the law of generation and one 
part of its sublime mission shall be to teach the 
world how to beget, gestate and rear a better race 
of beings. 

Spiritualism must elevate humanity because it is 
a living inspiration. The poorest teachers we have 
are those who go before the world in the name of 
religion with diplomas from theological institu- 
tions to preach to the people. They are compelled 
to go through a certain routine of study, which con- 
sumes from four to seven years. They have no 
time to acquaint themselves with vital issues. They 



34 Mission of Sviritualism. 

are so far from humanity they cannot hear its great 
heart beat, nor can they keep abreast of its solid 
columns which are marching onward to a better 
civilization. The world is pressing forward. It 
requires broad men and women — sun-crowned, and 
inspired with the genius of the living hour, to an- 
swer the needs of the people. 

"Out of the way ye priests, nor fling 
Your dark cold shadows on us longer." 

The intelligence that comprehends the demands 
of the times, calls for a church as broad as the 
world; a creed as universal as man, and a belief in 
the eternal progress of every human soul. Noth- 
ing short of this can accomplish the mission of 
Spiritualism. 



MY WEAVING. 



I was weary of weaving on Time's old loom; 

I had threaded my shuttle in cloud and gloom; 

1 looked at my web, it was so incomplete, 

That I felt to throw it in dust at my feet. 

The grey threads grew darker, each bright hue had 

flown, 
The warp was tear-moistened, and still I wove on. 

The grating grew harsh with the flight of each hour, 
The work was entangled; lower and lower 
I bent o'er my weaving and still could not see 
The shadings and hues that were given to me. 
Till, discouraged, I paused, and sleep o'er me came, 
And in dreams I heard some one calling my name. 

My shuttle I dropped, and my work left alone; 
The voice was enchanting, I followed its tone. 
I watched the light that illumined the way, 
For the clouds had all lifted, and night turned to day. 
"How lovely !" I cried ; through a gate-way I pressed, 
Intent on new beauties — a heaven and rest. 

35 



36 My Weaving. 



An angel drew near with the tenderest of eyes, 
Her w T ords were of pity, her glance, of surprise. 
"Oh, why are you here?" she said, sadly and sweet, 
"Your hands bear no token of weaving complete, 
Your tears have covered your loom with rust, 
And your shuttle now idle, is buried in dust." 

"Alas! but my threads are so tangled," I cried, 
"Your eyes are but blinded," the angel replied; 
"The grey warp is needed — you do not yet see 
How T beautifully woven the contrasts can be; 
Return to your shuttle, in faith persevere, 
The web, so imperfect, must be finished there." 

Ah! how could I murmur? rebuhings were just; 
I returned to my labor with patience and trust; 
I burnished mv shuttle, untangled my skein, 
The old mill's harsh grating grew softer again; 
I checked my repinings as time sped away, 
And at last I found more of the golden than grey. 

I awoke — the tread-wheel moved on just the same, 
But I found precious truth in one hour's short 
dream. 



IS THE PKOHIBITOKY MEASUKE A 
REFORMATORY ONE? 



There are many reasons why I am not in sym- 
pathy with the measures adopted by the prohibi- 
tionists; one of which is, I have no faith in legis- 
lative cures. Many good people believe that the 
order and decorum of well-regulated communities 
are due to legislative enactments — that men and 
women are kept virtuous by law, — some of my 
most intimate friends are strongly in favor of pro- 
hibition, and bitterly oppose my sentiments on this 
subject. These friends are exemplary persons. I 
venture to say they do not gamble, indulge in pro- 
fanity, or get drunk, but I give them so much 
credit, I attribute their virtues to a sense of honor, 
rather than to any restraint in consequence of civil 
law. 

Vices are never put down by legal prohibition, 
and a so-called virtue, that needs the protection of 
the law, is not worthy of the name. Nothing de- 
velops the moral faculties and is calculated to call 
out goodness in an individual, like responsibility. 

87 



38 Is the Prohibitory Measure 

Turn to any department in life, and you will find 
this to be true. With all my soul, do I believe the 
prohibitory law to be a barrier in the temperance 
movement. Whenever we resort to the strong arm 
of the law to control the appetite, we are engaged 
in a legal, not a moral, revolution. Some one has 
said: "The constable is pushed forward, and the 
divine weapons laid aside." 

I am no statistician, but I am informed that sta- 
tistics show that prohibition in Iowa has not been 
a success. The same is true of Maine and Kansas. 
The cause of temperance has steadily gone back- 
ward when taken out of the hands of the reformer 
and put into the hands of the law officer. Suppos- 
ing the law had done all it proposed to do, what 
would have been the boast of Iowa to-day? Is the 
drunkard reformed simply by being deprived, by 
the law, of his beverage? 

From a physiological standpoint, if from no other, 
people should abstain from alcoholic drinks. Cer- 
tain scientists have investigated the mattter, and 
illustrated the effects of fermented and distilled 
liquors upon the stomach. If it is a sin to drink 
in a saloon, is it not as much so to partake in a 
church, at a communion table? 

Government never has presumed to dictate what 
we shall eat, except to see that our meat is not tainted 
or our food so adulterated as to fill the country with 



a Reformatory One? 39 

contagion, yet thousands die annually, in conse- 
quence of vicious eatiDg. Others become victims 
to numerous ills. 

I admit all the evils that spring from intemper- 
ance. My public life has made me familiar with 
much of its misery, and I deplore it as much as 
any prohibitionist can, still I am confident that leg- 
islation will never bring the desired result. Many 
argue that nine-tenths of the poverty in the land is 
the result of intemperance. It occurs to me, that 
very much of the intemperance that curses the world 
is the result of poverty. There are no people in the 
world more deluded than those who believe the mil- 
lennium can be brought about by voting down the 
liquor traffic. Inasmuch as the effort has proved so 
much of a failure, why not turn the mind to a scien- 
tific study of the temperance question, and in place 
of employing detectives and constables to do our 
work, secure teachers and skillful doctors of soul 
and body to bring about the desired reformation. 
Again, I say, in the interest of temperance, I am 
opposed to the prohibitory movement. 



SOLITUDE. 



Away from the sound of the city's din, 
Away from the haunts of care and sin; 
Away from the tread of human feet, 
And jostle and jam of the noisy street, 
I seek a quiet, sequestered spot, 
Where men and women wander not. 
It seemed that a spirit called to me 
From the beautiful shade of the oaken tree. 

The sky is golden with sunset beam, 

It kisses and laughs in the placid stream; 

The grass lies a sheeny web at my feet, 

Dotted with blossoms of clover sweet; 

The soft wind kisses the leaf and flower, 

The birdlings fly homeward this witching hour. 

The greenwood trees form an arch above, 
They whisper sweet messages — all of love. 
The zephyr that fans my brow and cheek, 
Dear old-time memories doth repeat. 
My soul sends forth a rapturous song 
That is echoed back by an unseen throng. 



40 



A Medium's Happiest Hour. 41 

O, the communing; of one sweet hour 

"With Nature and self; what wondrous power 

Touches our life, we forget our pain 

And send back response to every strain, 

For the better thoughts in our hearts are stirred 

By the song and sermon our spirits heard. 



A MEDIUM'S HAPPIEST HOUR. 



When we lead some sorrowing mortal 
Upward toward the heavenly portal 
'Till uplifted is the shadow 
From the soul forevermore; 
When we bring the loved to meet you, 
And can messages repeat you, 

Filled with all their love and meaning, 
This, The Medium's Happiest Hour. 



FIKESIDE MUSINGS. 



I do not forget, while I sit by a comfortable fire, 
that hundreds, aye, thousands of my sex are hunt- 
ing employment, and that as many more, who have 
work, are grinding up bone and sinew, in order to 
fatten rich corporations. The bright dreams and 
worthy aspirations of many a young man and wo- 
man are smothered in the struggle for bread and 
butter. Wives and mothers wonder why it is, they 
are compelled to toil from morning until night, with 
no respite, denied many of the comforts of life, say- 
ing nothing of the luxuries, while just across the 
way, another woman, who never does an hour's 
work, has her horses, carriages and servants, with 
every opportunity for entertainment and amuse- 
ment. Yes, these poor women wonder why it is, 
that with the united efforts of themselves, and sober, 
industrious husbands, they can earn barely enough 
to clothe and feed their children, while they are in 
school, why they are compelled to count their last 
pennies every month to make out the rent on cheer- 
less, inconvenient houses, while some of their ac- 
42 



Fireside Musings. 43 



quaintances, who started in life with no better pros- 
pects, are living in palatial residences ; but in all their 
wondering and thinking, many of them have not 
grown to the idea, that bad legislation on financial 
matters have brought about the two extremes — 
wealth and poverty. They have not learned that if 
there were no very poor people in the country, there 
would be none very rich. I am sorry to say, many 
among the suffering, struggling and complaining, 
are strenuously opposed to the woman suffrage move- 
ment, and when asked to unite their forces with the 
workers in the cause, answer: "I've all the rights I 
want!" Of course, all of these reforms must be 
brought about through enlightenment. O, speed 
the time when woman, the world over, will realize 
that life should hold as much for her as though she 
were a man ! "When every road to art, science and 
philosophy will be as readily opened to her as to 
her brothers; when she will consider that there 
are other oDJects to live for than that of finding a 
husband in whom she may merge her individuality. 
Not that I would detract one particle from the 
sweetness and happiness in complete companion- 
ship, or the enjoyment found in a harmonious home, 
but there are many women who never ought to be- 
come wives and mothers, nor have the charge of a 
home, and never would, were it not for a support. 
We are living in a world of changes; when I was 



44 Fireside Musings. 

young — don't think I am very old now — I used to 
hear it said, "no girl should consider her education 
finished, until she had learned house-keeping, dress- 
making, laundry work and cooking, aye, and how 
to make men's clothing as well." JSTow, supposing 
these things were all that a woman could learn, 
there might be a little sense in such a statement. 
I can remember when girls knew nothing about 
clerking, telegraphing, law, medicine, and scores 
of avocations by which they are earning their living 
at the present time. The various trades and profes- 
sions are opened to the girls to-day, yet, many hold 
to the idea, that in connection with any one of these, 
the young lady should learn to keep house, and make 
her own clothing. Why should so much more be 
expected of our girls than of our boys ? When a boy 
is put to a trade, or profession, as a general thing, 
he is expected to devote his time and energies to the 
most perfect acquirement of the same. He is not 
supposed to divide his time between a dozen, or 
more vocations, thus becoming a "jack at all trades 
and good at none." True, various labor-saving ma- 
chines which have been introduced into the home, 
may help the girls out eomewhat, but when one's 
forces have been expended in cne way, they cannot be 
used in another. After a person has become thor- 
oughly exhausted, physically, there is little hope of 
accomplishing much, mentally. Besides, a time is 



Fireside Musings. 45 

coming when nearly every kind of work in the do- 
mestic department will be reduced to a science; I 
believe the time is not far distant, when professional, 
scientific cooks will be in demand, and paid a good 
salary. Laundry work is already reduced to an art ; 
the woman who can earn seventy-five cents a day, 
had better patronize a first-class laundry man, or 
woman, than use up her energies, and crowd her 
time in attempting to do so much extra labor. Not 
that any kind of labor is degrading; the idea is, 
that women and girls among the poorer classes, es- 
pecially, have failed to do their best in their legiti- 
mate work, in undertaking to do so many things. 

When girl accountants, telegraph operators and 
teachers, receive the same pay as their brothers, they 
will not feel compelled to sit up nights to do their 
own sewing, or to sacrifice an hour's sleep each 
morning;, in order to wash and iron their own clothes. 
A healthy looking working-girl, especially in the 
large towns, is the exception, and not the rule. 
Extra hours of hard work will break the constitu- 
tion, and the extra work has to be done that they 
may present a decent appearance on the street and 
in society. Why should we expect so much from 
girls? We never did from boys. 

There are girls who are naturally domestic in 
their disposition; who love home life and home 
work, whose sweetest aspirations are for a home of 



46 Fireside Musings. 

their own to love and care for. Happy are they, 
if they are so circumstanced in life, that their train- 
ing may come under careful, maternal hands. The 
true home is to become the rock on which our na- 
tion is to be founded; intelligent wives and moth- 
ers are to become our country's guardian angels, 
but woman's genius, talent and power must seek 
their domain, and, as the field for woman's work 
broadens, as she weds herself to the arts and sci- 
ences, co-operative homes will be instituted, thereby 
departmentizing domestic labor, and granting the 
wife and mother time for the exercise of her vari- 
ous mental gifts. 

Woman, rise, in all thy grandeur, 

Give thy genius to the world; 
Let no slavish fears enchain thee, 

Thy pure thoughts must help to mould 
Laws and customs for the people; 

To thy nobler self be true; 
Do not waste the hours in dreaming, 

There is work for thee to do. 



A'QUESTION. 



I've heard the song of the "Beautiful 'Hills," 

That rise on the farther shore, 
Where the weary rest from torturino- ills 

And languish 'neath care no more. 
But the beautiful song breaks not the chain 

That binds the million of slaves, 
Who never find rest of hand, or brain, 

'Till they drop in pauper graves. 

They say, "A Beautiful Home Over There," 

Is built by a Stream of Light, 
Where flowers of beauty perfume the air, 

And never falls shade or blight; 
But I know down here there are homeless ones, 

Whom the world counts little worth, 
That would blossom as rare and lovely souls, 

In a "Home, Sweet Home," on earth. 

I doubt not there comes a "Sweet Bye and Bye," 

I dream of the "Sometime Isle," 
But each day I hear earth's oppressed ones cry, 

And I question all the while; 

47 



48 A Question. 

O, how can we cheer the desolate way 
That leads to the "Sun-bright Sea?" 

Or help carry burdens of the To-Day, 
En route for "The Land To Be?" 

Hills may be bright on the "Evergreen Shore," 

And the Homes most sweet above; 
But many rough paths must be travelled here, 

Ere the "sylvan glades" we rove. 
'Tis the hill of the Now, we seek to climb, 

It is rugged, steep and high; 
How can we make blessed the Present Time, 

To make "Sweet" the "Bye and Bye?" 



THE BLUES. 



Somehow, everybody gets a touch of the blues 
when the prematurely cold and stormy days come, 
and when they are over, why, everybody seems to 
be transformed. To-day, old Sol is laughing out- 
right, and doing his very best to cheer up the places 
made so desolate by Jack Frost. 

I had thought the birds had become tired of the 
cold and storm and deserted us, but this morning 
I heard a wee songster call from his shelter in the 
evergreens. T felt so sorry for the poor, little fel- 
low, for I supposed he was left to sing his song 
alone; again he called, and soon I heard a response 
from a neighboring tree, and in a moment the song- 
sters perched themselves in the sunshine and war- 
bled one of the sweetest bird duets I ever heard. It 
was a simple circumstance, yet it did much for me. 
It awakened a response in my being, and my spirit 
that was so hampered with care, and toil-worn, for- 
got its burdens, and from its depths welled a new 
song. 

How true it is, that we are prone to judge the. 
4 49 



5.0 The Blues. 



future by the present. When the storms of life are 
upon us, we forget that "There is Light Ahead," 
and the songs become silenced in our hearts. How 
often, when the chill of disappointment has swept 
over ns, we grow bitter toward the world and feel 
to take no part in its mirth, music and joy. as I 
looked at the dear, little birds this morning, perched 
upon a leafless branch, and singing as joyously as 
they ever did amid the foliage in June, I thought, 
let this be a lesson for me. I am nearing; the au- 
tumn of my life; should I sing less? Why, because 
the spring and summer of our sweet lives are ended, 
should we remain silent, when the sun shines as 
warm as ever, and the moonlight falls as tenderly 
over the valley and river, as when we were young? 
The world is just as beautiful, dear reader, as when 
you and I were rearing our air castles, and painting 
in our picture galleries, the images of our youth. 
Do you say you still have enthusiasm, hope, joyf ill- 
ness and exuberance of spirit, but the friends who 
move in the realm with you cannot appreciate those 
elements in one in whom life is taking on the sere 
and yellow leaf? Never mind; sing on just the 
same, and call out from the very joyfulness of your 
being. Some one will respond to you along life's 
way; some happy soul will learn better how to ex- 
press itself because of the songs you give forth, and 
though your days are shortening and life's winter 



The Blues. 51 

close at hand, the sunset will be brighter, the twi- 
light less dreary, because of your soul's sweet songs. 
O, don't allow yourself to feel' old because your 
grandchildren play about your knee. Let not your 
white hairs be marks of decay, but rather let them 
surround your brow as a crown of glory. No, no, 
if you are as Nature designed, you are ripening, not 
dying. 

No grove there is upon earth's varied chart 
But what may hold some little bird to cheer it; 

So let Hope sing within the human heart 
And ne'er so sad, but that the soul may hear it. 



NATUEE'S TEMPLE. 



"We have gathered in the temple, whose roof, the 

arching sky, 
Spreads over dale and forest, its deep, bine canopy; 
Where the nodding grasses tremble, as the Great 

Spirit breathes 
Its silent invocations through the overhanging 

leaves. 

Here we list to sweetest music; the choicest notes 

combine 
To stir the soul to worship at this majestic shrine; 
The thrilling tones are wafted upon the tiniest 

breeze ; 
From Nature's wond'rous organ, God sweeps the 
magic keys. 

Here, from this grand old Temple, no costly spires 

arise, 
No altar, or no trappings to mock uplifted eyes, 
~No studied prayers, or sermons are read from musty 

books. 
Our texts are written on the trees, and heard in 

babbling brooks. 
52 



Nature's Temple. 53 

Here we feel the glorious presence of precious lib- 
erty; 

The bending heavens proclaim it reaching on from 
land to sea; 

Our souls thrill with emotions beyond our feeble 
speech, 

For the spirit hath a language the tongue can never 
reach. 

Let us gather up the sunbeams that crown these 
golden hours, 

And drink the rarest sweetness from the silent, up- 
turned flowers; 

Let us breathe into our spirits the "music in the 
air," 

Until with one accord, we feel 'tis good to worship 
here. 



WOMEN IN GOVERNMENT. 



I have a correspondent who is very much afraid 
I will "mix up in politics." He says: "I under- 
stand you have signified your willingness to talk 
on governmental affairs." Now, suppose I have, or 
have not, why does my correspondent put so much 
stress on the words, "mix up in politics?" — he un- 
derscores them — would I sink so much in his esti- 
mation as a woman, if I felt inspired to say a word 
on the issues, over which he and the great army of 
brothers are contending? He would not allow a 
woman to vote; would he prohibit her from talk- 
ing? Then he must compel her to stop thinking. 
I never have intimated that I desired to identify 
myself with politics, but I do say I want the priv- 
ilege of expressing myself on matters of govern- 
ment, the same as on religion, or any one of the 
reforms. Why not? Is there anything so terribly 
bad about politics? If so, who put it there? My 
over-anxious correspondent says, the time has not 
come when woman should be granted the ballot, 
that when it does, the rulers of the nation will en- 

54 



Women in Government. 55 

clow her with that right. Isn't that comforting? 
How does he know the time has not come? How 
does he know the "rulers" will endow woman with 
the right of suffrage? How can any set of people 
"endow" human beings with an "inalienable fight" 
when, according to the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, such right was "endowed" by the Creator? 
How widely our people have departed from that 
document. When government enrolls woman on 
its list of citizenship, and admits her into all civil 
councils on the same basis that it admits man, then 
we shall have a cosmopolitan congress, and it will 
be the grandest achievement of any age. 

My correspondent inquires, "What good will be 
derived from woman suffrage?" Allow me to ask, 
what benefit has come to man through suffrage? 
When woman is armed with citizenship, she will 
stand as man's equal in point of law. She will 
receive better wages — aye, her remuneration will be 
the same as that of man, if she performs the same 
amount of labor and does it as well. With better 
wages she will become self-supporting, and self- 
supporting, she will not be compelled to barter her 
womanhood and sacrifice her honor and purity as 
she does to-day in and out of marriage. 

It is a stubborn fact that eight-tenths of the vice 
and crime that shatter society to-day, the reports of 
Avhich, crowd the secular press throughout the coun- 



56 Women in Government. 

try, are caused by poverty. Intemperance blackens 
our streets, denies homes, makes wrecks of men and 
women, and in searching out the cause of the in- 
crease of this terrible vice, we are compelled to ad- 
mit that much of it is due to broken fortunes, 
blighted prospects and ruined hopes. Much of the 
so-called social evil, can be traced directly or indi- 
rectly to the financial world, and when one com- 
mences to consider, where is the limit? Has wo- 
man no interest in these matters — the glorious 
mothers and wives of the republic? Yes; and it is 
in woman's power to purify the ballot-box, the bar 
and the jury. She can enforce more justice in leg- 
islation; then, not until then, will a crown of glory 
rest .upon Columbia. Then will the Goddess of Lib- 
erty be an actualized reality. At present, the bird 
of freedom has but one wino-- how can he soar aloft 
and sing his songs of liberty to the people? 

I am aware the good revolution is begun. New 
wine cannot be put into old bottles. The bottles 
will burst and the wine be lost. "With legislative 
oppression on one hand and church intolerance on 
the other, there is a lust for monopoly, not only in 
the political, but in the church realm! She — the 
church — sways the social sceptre; she has become 
the shrine of fashion; she commands the worship 
of the rich; are not these evidences that she is no 
longer a moral or spiritual guide? The prodigal 



Women in Government. 57 

sons and daughters are scorned from her doors; the 
poor are seldom welcomed to the popular church; 
reformers are traduced in the name of Christianity; 
angels have returned and she would not receive 
them. The church is partisan, sectional and rebel- 
lious to the soul of freedom. 

Most Spiritualists are as radical as the writer on 
these points, but some of them are fearful a discus- 
sion of these issues will injure their cause. I glory 
in Spiritualism, because I believe in its indestruc- 
tibility. We can each express our opinions, cher- 
ish our ideas, do ever so well, or the reverse, the 
truth will live. 

Why is it any more unworthy to stand before an 
audience and demand political freedom than relig- 
ious freedom? Spiritualism has made it possible 
for woman to stand where she does to-day in the 
chui'ch, at the bar, in medicine and other hitherto 
forbidden places; so, in the evolution of things, she 
will continue to progress and work her way on to 
those heights where she may exult in political in- 
dependence. 

As a Spiritualist, I believe this republic must be 
elevated into an inspirational life. That is, we, as 
a people, must learn there are higher laws than 
those printed in statute books. What can we say 
of politics, but that it is a "chess-board for gam- 
blers?' 1 The religions of the world aro as a "sound- 



58 Women m Government. 

ing brass and a tinkling cjmbal." Disorder, con- 
tention and strife are apparent on every hand. If 
man's wisdom has not been adequate, is it not time 
that we pause and ask, "What have our arisen 
friends for us?" may they not, with their superior 
experiences become our oracles? Must the Ship of 
State go down amid the storms, a wrecked thing 
forever? Are we true to our highest light, we, who 
believe that the great and good of all ages live, and 
are interested in what pertains to the world of hu- 
manity, when we claim that our government and 
all matters pertaining to it, should be ignored, and 
woman, especially, remain silent on all of these 
questions? I believe our sin is unpardonable, if 
we refuse to utter what the spirit saith to us. 

One thing must be borne in mind, we must not 
attempt to manage the inspiration as it comes to 
us. The under-currents cannot be controlled. 
Every human construction will fall before the 
larger life that bears us on. Growth and out -growth 
is everywhere. The struggle for justice, the war 
for freedom, bereavements, sacrifices, and all hu- 
man endeavor for better conditions, are rich experi- 
ences, leading into diviner paths, forming new men- 
tal and spiritual illustrations, and spring up, fresh 
springs of inspiration. 



GIYE ME ONE YIEW OF THE GOLDEN" 
CITY. 



Swing open the gates to the Beautiful World, 

O, guardian ones, we pray; 
That through the mists our dimmed eyes may gaze 
'Till we catch a glimpse of the sun's bright rays, 

From the city just over the way. 

'Tis a beautiful land over there, we're told, 
Where the flowers ne'er mildew, or blight, 

Where incense sweetens the softest air, 

And the music of love is everywhere, 
And falls no shadow or night. 

Fain would we look on the beautiful aisles, 

That lead to that wonderful home, 
Our darlings left us one dreary day, 
The boatman silently bore them away, 

And our hearts with anguish were torn. 

O, for a glimpse of that Beautiful World, 

Our fathers and mothers are there; 

Our darling babes, we loved them so, 

With their beautiful curls o'er their foreheads of snow, 

They have climbed the golden stair. 

59 



60 In Memoriam. 



When the days are drear and the nights are long, 

And our hearts heavy burdens bear, 
How light would our crosses of sorrow become, 
What sunshine would flood the dreariest room, 
Could we catch one glimpse of the Beautiful Home, 
The city ;just over there. 



IK MEMORIAM. 



Gone from this world to the Beautiful Shore, 
Earth's weary march forever is o'er; 
The Angel's sweet call echoed over the tide, 
He folded his tent for the other side, 
Aud silently passed through the open gate, 
Where lovingly, watchingly, he Mali wait. 
To welcome the dear ones, as, one by one, 
They too, strike their tents when life's battle 
is done. 



NEW YEAE'S EVE REYEEIES. 



The old year is nearly gone; soon the hands upon 
the dial-plate will denote the advent of the new. 
As I sit alone, casting a retrospect over the past 
twelve months, questions arise in my mind concern- 
ing the efforts and the result of the past year. In- 
tellectually and spiritually has it been a profitable 
one? Am I better prepared to solve life's prob- 
lems and meet its changes than one year ago? Am 
I better able to understand the needs of humanity? 
Do I know myself better, than when, twelve months 
since, I stood in the gate-way of the new year, and 
saw the old, close behind me? The result of the 
past year's struggles and efforts can only be judged 
by the deeds of the present. As I shall turn over, 
one by one, the leaflets of the days as they come and 
go, may I leave better inscriptions than ever before, 
and not be ashamed of the pictures left upon the 
pages. 

How many of us during the old year have stood 
under the shadows, and wept the physical out-go- 
ing of some departed friend. Dear ones, who, one 

61 



62 New Yearns Eve Reveries. 

year since, sent me loving greetings through the 
mediumship of their own hands, are to-night, on the 
spirit side of life, and were I, this moment, clair- 
voyant, I know I would see them, for I sense their 
presence. 

I cannot tell how loving ones can reach me 

From that fair land; 
The spirit hath its own unwritten language 

I understand. 

During the past year, many of our noble workers 
have passed beyond the gates; how T would love, 
as I sit here, waiting to close the old volume and 
open the new, to get some message from them. 
Have they been able from the watch-towers over 
there, to get any signal concerning our glorious 
cause? Can they see farther than we? Are they 
able to gather harmony out of all the apparent dis- 
cord that surrounds us? Would that you and I, 
dear reader, might become clairvoyant, thus being 
capable of understanding the condition of the earn- 
est, faithful souls that one year since, were strug- 
gling as you and I now are for the upbuilding of a 
better humanity. 

The coming year! what lies behind its mysteri- 
ous curtain for me? I would not, if I could, have 
it lifted to-night, for many of us would falter if we 
knew the mountains we must climb, the chasms 
we must bridge, the heart-aches we must endure. 



New Yearns Eve Reveries. 63 

When the time comes for us to meet them, some- 
how the power of endurance comes with it, and 
we live through it all, better for the experiences. 
When we are left to our own resources with how 
much more energy we ply life's oar and develop 
within ourselves a power that we had never imag- 
ined lay within our possibilities. The most of us 
smile more frequently than we shed tears. Life 
may seem ever so dark, we see more sun than shade, 
then let us hope on, work on. 

Good-bye, old year. All there is of good I will 
endeavor to transfer into the new one, and be 
careful that the mistakes and blots that blemish 
the old book find no duplicate in the new. What- 
ever is sealed for the coming time will be the best. 

o 

Sometimes I may exult on the mountain -tops, at 
others walk silently in the valleys, but I will strive 
to remember that I am never alone — that unseen 
ones are always about me, striving to assist, when 
I make conditions, in the great work of life. 

"Ring out the old, ring in the new 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow 
The year is going, let him go. 

^; ;■; c I , - ". ! •!• *x* *t» •!» 

"Ring out false pride in place and blood, 

The cruel slander and the spite; 

Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the common love of good." 



GO FORTH. 

[Dedicated to New Thought.] 



Go forth! and may thy gracious errand be 
Fraught with good gifts for dear humanity. 
Unloose the bonds of slavery and wrong; 
Make souls too large for envy, hate or scorn; 
Encourage goodness, teach to do and dare, 
Nerve brains to act and human hearts to bear. 

Go forth ! not with dogmatic iron sway, 
Through reason, teach mankind the better way; 
Speak as thou wilt of golden years to be 
To paint in dreams a bright futurity; 
But ne'er forget that millions bending low 
Beneath life's burdens, ask for blessings now. 

Go forth! this cruel world hath need of thee. 
Bid tumults cease ; spread light from sea to sea. 
Through faith we stumble, lacking sight we fall 
While "Ignorance makes cowards of us all." 
Hope's syren voice a song uncertain sings 
And Genius tries to soar with fettered wings. 
64 



• The Promise: 65 

Go forth! if Heaven commissioned thou 

wouldst be, 
Before no tyrant bend the slavish knee; 
Baptize the world with deeper, sweeter love; 
A beacon light in life's dark highway prove; 
True to the calling of the present hour, 
Go forth, ISTew Thought, and Truth shall give 

thee power. 



THE PKOMISE. 



world of soul ! unseen tho' thou mayst be, 
Save to the inner sense, thou art reality; 

The shades will lift, grey morning will appear, 

1 feel the night is passing, dawn is near; 
The stream that bears us safely on will glide 
In spite of calm or widely adverse tide. 

I know at last unto our inner sense, 

Comes home the lesson sweet, of recompense; 

I wait, I watch, aye, how my spirit thrills 

To catch one glimpse of the Eternal Hills. 
5 



CONVICTIONS. 



I am convinced, aside from all physical phenom- 
ena, of the existence of spirit. True, I do not en- 
dorse all that comes in the name of Spiritualism, 
neither do I bow in homage or yield my judgment 
to any spirit out of the flesh more than I would to 
one in the flesh, unless I am convinced of the su- 
perior wisdom and judgment of that spirit. I be- 
lieve that I am in the spirit world now as much as 
I ever will be; I realize that I am a spirit, looking 
out through physical eyes, listening through phys- 
ical ears. I know there is an infinitesimal world, 
of which we know nothing, save through the vision 
aided by the microscope. 1 know there is a world 
of sound of which we know nothing except through 
the microphone. I also know that there is a realm 
of which we can know nothing save through the 
spiritual senses. Is it egotistical in me to say I 
see, independent of mortal vision, and hear, inde- 
pendent of the delicate instrument Nature gave me 
66 



Convictions. 67 



as a medium for sound? There are times when I 
hear octave on octave of rich, rare sounds; they 
thrill my soul, and produce the most exalted men- 
tal and spiritual conditions. In such moments I 
rise above all discords. The whole universe seems 
set to harmony; its sounds blend in one perfect mel- 
ody, until the soul of the Great Artist is felt in the 
sweeping diapason of a majestic anthem, Heaven, 
Earth and Air are chanting. Sometimes there 
comes to me, under every seeming inharmony, a 
perfect rytlim; under every groan of human agony 
a minor strain, touching and sad. yet true and ten- 
der. This unwritten music has tempered my life, 
sweetened hours that would have been bitter; has en- 
abled me to sing my best songs, say my truest words 
an<rl do my best and womanly deeds. It is as real 
to me as that read from the staff, or listened to from 
any musical instrument. Supposing I cannot ren- 
der it any more than I can translate the words the 
spirit saith to me, there is a language that can never 
be framed into speech; it is uttered by spirit, and 
by spirit alone can be interpreted. 

Never, in all my mediumistic experience, have I 
felt more assurance of the companionship of the 
invisible than now. In fact, new developments are 
continually coming to me. I know nothing more 
positively, than I do that the change called Death, 
will not put so much as a comma in my existence. 



68 Wait. 

I do not dread to cross the silent river. Did I feel 
no obligations here, how gladly would I hail the 
spirit's release. 



WAIT. 



Sometimes Life's sweetest cup will hold 

The bitterest dregs to human lips; 
The glorious sun at highest noon 

By strange dark shadows be eclipsed. 
Those that we love may bruise the heart 

And wound in dearest, tenderest spot, 
May pull its velvet leaves apart 

And spill its precious blood for naught 
But hold the cup with steady hand, 

Wait! for it must surely fill; 
The golden sun will shine again, 

Though but to gild the western hill. 
Some higher power will lend a hand 

To heal the wound and ease the smart; 
A holier life will press thine own 

And leave its seal upon thy heart. 
When all's fulfilled and harmony 

Has reached thy soul — its every sense, 
Thou wilt have learned Heaven's minstrelsy 

And this, thy soul's sweet recompense. 



THIS "LAND OF SHADOWS." 



I wait on the shore of the wonderful stream 

That runs 'twixt this and the "Border Land;" 
I watch, for perhaps, o'er the wavelet's gleam, 
I may catch some glimpse of a loving hand, 
Beckoning me to the Great Beyond, 
Out of this "Land of Shadows." 

1 list, and methinks I hear the roar 

Of the mighty waves of an infinite sea; 
I know that across on the soft, blue shore, 
Cherished darlings are waiting for me; 
"Waiting to greet me in the Beyond, 
Out of the "Land of Shadows." 

How oft I have dreamed of that world of light 

Where the human soul forgets its fears, 
And may gather up all of its fruitage ripe 
Of seed that was sown in weary years — 
Seed that was sown for the Great Beyond, 
Here in this "Land of Shadows." 



70 This "Land of Shadows." 

And now, that world seems so wondrous near, 

The air with melodies sweet are rife; 
What throngs of glad voices now greet my ear, 
My soul leaps forth to the Angel Life. 
She parts the waters to bear me on 
Out of this "Land of Shadows." 

Companion, my darling, weep no more; 

How oft my spirit will turn to thee; 

I'll watch and love from the farther shore 

That borders the land beyond the sea. 

I'll wait for thee in the upper sphere 

Above this "Land of Shadows." 

For those who love me I leave no word 
That means a bitter or sad farewell; 
My spirit, like an imprisoned bird, 

Yearns in Freedom's sweet air to dwell. 

One struggle — then out of these bonds of clay, 
Out of this "Land of Shadows." 



"THE GLORIOUS FOURTH.". 



Our country is on the eve of celebrating "The 
Glorious Fourth." Banners will be spread, can- 
nons boom, orators in readiness to deliver their 
spread eagle speeches, young Americans will be 
shouting over their fire crackers, and a general con- 
fusion will have been inaugurated all over the land; 
all for what? To celebrate our Independence. Ah ! 
yes; who are the free? True, the chains forged by 
the politicians, and bolted by the church on human 
beings, have been broken, but not until after war, 
blood and death. What is our Constitution to-day 
but a dead letter? The wealth of the land serves 
as a combustion; its politics a chess-board for gam- 
blers, the churches "whited sepulchres," and church 
membership, with some exceptions, mannerisms. 
The glory America has achieved from time to time 
will prove but a monument to mark her grave unless 
her people open their souls to the inspiration of 



72 "The Glorious Fourth." 

honor, truth and justice. The ship of state goes 
down wrecked forever, unless we strike again for 
independence and liberty. Truth is as free as the 
sunlight. Soul to soul and heart to heart must 
work for the uplifting and upbuilding of humanity. 
This fair, beautiful Nation is not free and inde- 
pendent while the mothers, wives and sisters are 
unrecognized in national affairs. O speed the 
time, when men and women, the fathers and moth- 
ers of this Republic may stand as equals, when 
woman may stand with her brother under the starry 
flag, not only his companion, but his peer, with loyal 
heart and hand to help the down-trodden, elevate 
labor and bless the world, as man-power alone can- 
not do. 



AFTER THE STORM. 



The long rain is over, the clouds rifted lie, 
In gossamer paths on the delicate sky; 
The waters have silenced their moaning so drear, 
The westward is golden, the sun will set clear, 
After the storm. 

The roses have opened, they crown June their queen 
The woodlands are bright in their beautiful sheen, 
The oriole sings in the maple tree nigh, 
The whip-poor-will tenderly chants a reply, 
After the storm. 

The children are out and they romp in their glee, 

Their voices and laughter are music to me. 

How they watched the clouds through the long, 

dreary day, 
Coveting hoop and ball, "just one hour for play," 

After the storm. 

The workman turns homeward with footstep more 

light, 
S 73 



74 A Beautiful Thought. 

For golden threads that knit day into night. 
He views in the distance the dear one who waits 
To welcome him lovingly through the old gate, 
After the storm. 

Ah, how will it be when Time's great storm is o'er \ 
Will my sunset golden as I near the shore 
Away in the gloaming? and then will I see- 
Some dearly beloved friend waiting for me 
After the storm? 



A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. 



Have you ever thought, dear reader, how beauti- 
ful and innumerable are the lessons constantly com- 
ing to us in the name of our glorious philosophy? 
Every day, if we are ready to receive it, there comes 
a new revelation. We are learning more and more 
that we are now in a spirit world — building our 
homes for the great to-morrow, developing the in- 
dividual that is to be, and that some of our best 
growth comes through our struggles, pains and tears. 
Were this life all, we might well cry out in bitter- 



A Beautiful Thought. 75 

ness many times, and feel indeed it were a failure, 
but if we are to continue on and on, only changing 
our conditions, who knows but that our dreams 
may be realized, and that the good for which we 
have struggled during our earthly pilgrimage yet 
be won? Rapidly the years are whirling on, some- 
times bearing our dearest hopes and sweetest joys. 
We may hold out our arms and cry as we see them 
go, but the present is ours, the future will be, and 
with added experiences we will grow better and 
wiser. For aught we know, our best growth may 
hr.ve come when our souls were wailing in agony; 
the terrible waves that threaten to engulf us as we 
drift on the bosom of Life's ocean, may toss us 
higher than we ever could have climbed, and hast- 
ened our advancement as no effort of ours on a 
calmer sea could have done. Clear eyes are search- 
ing the way for us; strong hands are at the helm; 
let us be faithful to the needs of the hour and do 
our best. No angel can do more. 



ACKOSS THE WAT. 



J- wait to see the last faint sunbeam quiver 

Above yon hill ; 
And linger by the deep and rolling river, 

'Till waves are still. 
How bright are they kissed by the glowing sun- 
beams, 

And breezes farmed; 
I know the waters touch in ebb and flowing 

"The Border Land." 

I know some eyes will here grow sad and tearful 

At close of day; 
When 'mid the shadows of the deepening twilight, 

I go aw r ay. 
But I will come when morning's early splendor 

Shall kiss the rills; 
And bring a message warm, loving and tender 

From the bright hills. 

I do not know, dear ones, how I shall reach you 

From that fair land ; 
76 



Across the Way. 77 

The spirit hath its own unspoken language, 

You'll understand. 
I will pervade the souls of those who love me, 

I'll need no speech; 
Spirit will seek its own ; its best expression 

Words never reach. 

I hold within my arms so weak and trembling 

My little sheaves; 
I know the best of them are all imperfect 

And mixed with leaves. 
But they are mine — each won by constant toiling 

At Love's behest; 
I only care to hear these words of plaudit, 

"She did her best." 

I wait, nor do I dread the deepening twilight 

Of one fair day. 
I know the sunlight never leaves the mountains 

Across the way. 
I know that Love will bridge the silent river 

"Where'er I stand, 
And watchful souls will feel my spirit presence 

And understand. 



TO MY MOTHER 



78 



Mother, from the world's rude jostlings 

I turn for a day apart; 
Forsaking the strife and masses 

For the love of your fond heart. 
I'm weary., my feet have wandered 

So far, and again I come 
To love, to rest and he cherished 

In the arms of "Home, Sweet Home." 

O, fold me as in childhood 

In your mother-love embrace; 
Your hands with their kind caresses 

Drive the care-clouds from my face. 
Pause not to count the white thread ings 

That are lying o'er my brow; 
Forget that I am a woman, 

I would be your dear child now. 

Need I tell of all the breakers 

I'm compelled to pilot through? 
Of burning, blistering plough-shares 



To My Mother. 79 



O'er which I walk with the "few;" 
Enduring the scorn and malice 

Of those who falsely assail; 
Still blessed am I, dearest mother, 

Your\o\o, my life ne'er has failed. 

In my soul's deep recess is hidden, 

Cherished visions of days gone by; 
Home pleasures — its sweetest endearments, 

I buried them all with a sigh 
When I heard the angel's commission — 

"Go down to God's Temple so free, 
That the heart may yield e'en its life-blood 

In thy work for humanity." 

Dear mother, I've bent but not broken, 

I've faltered but never have failed; 
I have battled the wind and the tempest, 

But am stronger for every gale. 
I have drank the sweet with the bitter. 

I have found the false with the true, 
And I have seen much more of Heaven, 

Than I could find within its blue. 

I will not murmur at fate, mother, 

All is best or it would not be; 
My work may bring slow fruition, 

But it surely holds much for me. 
I may sometimes wander in darkness, 



80 The End. 

And in silence breatho forth my prayer, 
If I walk in the vale of sorrow, 
I'll find God and my angels there. 

I Dring you no weary repining, 

But a wish for an hour of rest; 
And to whisper my soul's endeavors 

To the one that knoweth it best. 
Then, oh take me as when in childhood 

Ere the world I had learned to know, 
There are paths that now wait my treading, 

Bless me, and again I will go. 



THE END. 



The morning was grey and somber 

The west wind blew from the hills, 
And swept all the mist asunder, 

Then sunlight the valleys filled. 
And the day was bright and golden, 

No clouds in the sky were seen; 
And its close! the glorious sunset 

"Was gorgeous as could have been. 



The End. 81 

A terrible dream the midnight 

Had brought to my weary brain; 
I was left alone in life's battle 

To bear my wounds and their pain, 
But at morn the vision vanished, 

For a lover's tenderness 
Brought to me an early greeting 

And sought all the day to bless. 

Life's ocean is full of boulders, 

As it sweeps and swells so wide; 
But I know the waves run smoothly 

As they sweep the other side. 
Why should I shrink in the tempest? 

Some power I know will defend. 
After the struggle is over 

It will all be well in the end. 



BIETH-DAY MEDITATIONS. 



This is my forty-sixth natal day, and a more 
charming morning never was chronicled in balmy, 
leafy June. Is it possible that I have drifted on 
Life's sea for nearly half a century ? I have passed 
some beautiful scenes and many times my heart 
has exulted as my little barque has coursed its way 
over smooth waters under the glancing sunbeams, 
with hosts of friends within hailing distance. There 
have been times, too, when I have been whirled on 
"amid the breakers and the roar," when the night 
has been upon me; when no light-house was dis- 
cernible, when my head, heart and hands grew 
weary in the struggle. How gloriously the morn- 
ing always ' dawned after the storms, and I always 
found the rude waves had tossed my little barque 
higher and farther on, than it could possibly have 
drifted in the calm. 1 learned that all unseen by me, 
a strong hand had been at the helm. I knew that 
a faithful pilot had attended me, and I was stronger 
for having stemmed the tide, and in better condi- 
tion for future struggles. 
82 



Birth-day Meditations. 83 

As I look backward and view the wake I have left 
in the stream, it indeed looks crooked ; I have made 
a serpentine way, but, like others, I have probably 
done the best I could. I know I have sometimes 
steered against the shoals, made mistakes, but in 
those places I have endeavored to set light-houses 
— signals, so my fellow mariners may not drift into 
the same channel. Taking the voyage thus far, all 
in all, it has been more pleasurable than otherwise. 
I have seen more sunny than stormy seasons. I do 
not dread to approach the farther shore, for I have 
occasional glimpses of the land to which I am going. 
I know it will be a counterpart of this life and we 
shall go 

"Sailing, sailing out on the sea 
Of a great and vast eternity." 

I am at present, writing in the one room in our 
dwelling that I have dedicated, and, as far as possible, 
consecrated to spiritual development. For years, I 
have in my home, no matter where it has been, en- 
deavored to have one spot — "a trysting place with 
the divine," where I could go daily and commune 
with my arisen friends; where I could breathe out 
my aspirations, aye, lay my soul bare with all of 
its weakness, to my ever faithful spirit attendants. 
Laugh ye who may, at the idea of a home-shrine, 
where we may turn occasionally and watch and hold 
guard with our unseen friends; it has been my 



84 Birth-day Meditations. 

strength and my shield ; it has enabled me to meet 
the multitude; it has given me courage to say strong 
words ; it has medicined my tired and often sick soul ; 
aye, all that I am or may be in public work, depends 
on my being able to have "conditions." In writing 
this I trust my good readers will not infer that I am 
desirous of yielding my individuality, far from it; 
nor do I have any desire to return to so-called un- 
conscious mediumship, but I feel more and more the 
need of the spirit, the power to lead me out, the intel- 
ligence to guide me, the wisdom to enable me to say 
the right thing at the right time. So long have I 
worked in the capacity of a medium, I know some- 
thing what it means. It is not merely to sing sweet 
songs, or to portray beautiful pictures inartistic word 
painting; but the true medium must voice unpopular 
truths; must plead for the down -trodden and op- 
pressed; must try to liberate the slave everywhere; 
must strike at certain systems, while pity warms 
the soul for persons who love the systems. The 
truly inspired hates slavery, but loves the slave; 
hates sin, but feels kindly toward the sinner. O, 
the misunderstanding and bitter condemnation that 
such workers bring upon themselves; but the one 
who goes forth commissioned with this work, and 
who truly feels the burden laid upon him, will not 
fail, for God Almighty's warrant is in his keeping, 
the God of Truth, Wisdom and Love. 



A BEAUTIFUL ANGEL COMES TO ME. 



There's a beautiful angel who comes to me 
"With whispered words o'er the silent sea, 
Those words, they are to my heart's deep wells 
Like the distant echo of silver bells; 
And they soothe, they cheer, they soften my pain, 
So I take up my burden and toil again, 
Nor would I rest till the day is done, 
Then I will go home to that beautiful one. 

When the earth was draped in a vernal sheen, 
"When roses had crowned bright June their queen, 
When song-birds trilled in the woodland bowers 
And sweetness lingered on all the hours, 
The silent waters were parted wide, 
My darling passed to the other side 
With only this whisper breathed to me: 
"We'll meet again o'er the silent sea." 

O, the grief! the tears! the pain I felt! 

As by the new made grave I knelt; 

When lo! a voice stirred the upper air; 

I looked! I saw a dear face there; 

85 



86 A Beautiful Angel Comes to Me. 

His face, and he looked with tender eyes 
Into mine own with sweet surprise, 
And he said; "Weep not, henceforth I'll be 
Thy guardian, keeping watch o'er thee." 

So I've journeyed on these many years, 

Had much of sunshine, some of tears; 

A few dear friends have grown strange and cold, 

But life may be better for this I hold, 

For the "tried and true," who remain to bless, 

I clasp near my heart in tenderness, 

And I know they will weep when I cross the sea 

With the beautiful angel who waits for me. 

When wearied my hands, when worn my feet, 
When fainter and fainter life's pulses beat; 
When I'm weary of striving for better things, 
And my spirit droops with fettered wings, 
Then I'll walk down to the silent shore; 
I'll list for the sound of the boatman's oar, 
I'll watch for the glimpse of the shining sail, 
I'll joyously greet the boatman pale, 
Nor will I dread to cross the sea, 
For my beautiful angel will come for me. 



LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY. 



Oh, Liberty! What art thou, and what means thy 

name to me? 
Has thy heaven-born commission made every being 

free ? 
Are there no slavish bindings, cursing men and WO- 
men now? 
Who are thy loving votaries — who at thy shrine 

doth bow? 
I hear the groans of suffering, from many a palace 

hall, 
I see in lowliest hovels, grim shadows on the wall; 
I behold the dupes of fashion, who are fettering 

soul and brain, 
Singing of glorious Freedom, yet writhing in their 

chain. 

What though the negro stands to-day, beneath our 

banner bright, 
Equal to the white man, and a full sharer of his 

right? 

87 



88 Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. 

The master's whip is buried; aye, his cruel reign 

is o'er, 
And ye have chanted liberty, from mountain, glen 

and shore; 
Yet, who are those of this great age, who freedom 

will maintain? 
How many avowed Reformers have dared to break 

custom's chain? 
They kneel before the tyrant, called Society, this hour, 
And will rise when e'er the masses give the word 

and power. 

We find in all humanity, a feud 'twixt rich and poor; 
The nabob rolls in luxury, the beggar at his door 
Is shivering in tatters, while most wretchedly he's 

fed; 
One dies from drinking costly wines, the other 

starves for bread. 
I scorn the name of Liberty, while money-gods hold 

sway ; 
Position in the land is bought, and "honesty don't 

pay." 
The world shakes to its center; voices ring from 

land to sea, 
"While angels are responding, "Ye shall have 

Equality." 
Equal rights to woman -kind, who has been man's 

meanest slave; 



Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. 89 

And spilled her heart's blood out in vain, — crushed 

by her master — knave; 
When woman claims her freedom, she will reach 

diviner life; 
Truth will become her guiding star, and love will 

orown her wife — 
Will put her hand to earnest toil, her service paid 

shall be 
Equal to her brother, and with him a laborer free. 
Will climb the same bright archway that his manly 

feet have trod, 
Still loyal to her noblest powers, her womanhood — 

her God. 

We will sheathe the sword forever, will ope the 

prison door, 
We will hush the voice of scandal, and her tongue 

shall curse no more; 
We will wipe the burning tear-drops, that blister 

o'er the heart, 
And in our life's great drama, will act the human 

part. 
Liberty and Equality must come to all mankind, 
'Ere the millennium can dawn, and life's true use 

we find ; 
Liberty for every one, and Equality for all, 
Then Fraternity — "Love's other name," kindly 

blesses all. 



LOYE MISSIVES. 



Darling, each day thy precious missive comes 
So full of love and tenderness and trust; 
I cannot tell how much each one inspires 
My life, or puts fresh courage in my thought. 
No longer tuneless is the atmosphere, 
For every golden moment as it flies, 
Is freighted with sweet and tender music. 
These messages are bright and jewelled links 
That bind my soul to thine; I am so near 
I catch thy spirit-breathing, and I feel 
The deep emotions as they ebb and flow 
In thy soul of souls. 

As I sit here I cannot be alone, 

For I am stirred as though thy spirit came; 

It haunts my reverie and rules my thought. 

I sat to-night amid the shadows grim, 

'Till thy dear life as a bright circle closed 

About my own. And now I feel my soul 

Reach upward ; it sees new heights of Being. 

I touch my humble lyre with stronger hand; 
90 



Love Missives. 91 



The thorns that pierced have hurst in blossoms all, 
And holy eyes seem watching in my soul, 
From the soft purple hills that rise upon 
The Spirit Shores. 

Dear one, the years are passing swiftly on; 
Our way winds 'neath the shadow and the sun; 
Sometimes in thorny paths our tired feet bleed; 
We climb in weariness the steeps of toil ; 
'Mid swamps of Poverty, oft press our way, 
But still our joys remain. Love lends a charm 
To every task. Toil deepens all our love. 
Sometimes we halt between the towering hills, 
of sunny Hope, and giant, dark Despair; 
But spirit friends are always at our side, 
With faithful guidance e'er to lead the way. 

Darling, we stand upon the summit now, 
Of earthly life. The daisied Spring-time's gone; 
The early Autumn with its flush of gold 
Drops down upon us. Frost has touched our brows, 
And on our faces, Time his mark has lain. 
But as to-niglit I read thy message sweet, 
My soul drinks inspiration in each line. 
My heart forgets its burdens and the light 
Of Hope and Faith dispel each threatening gloom, 
The Autumn-time seems as the joyous Spring. 
The cliffs whereon with mortal feet 1 stand 
Kindle with ruddy hue. Love's magic wand, 



92 My Blessings. 



Has spread o'er every steep a rosy warmth. 
May heaven bless thy true and tender soul; 
Wave on wave, its life has entered mine, 
And I would be its life-long friend and love, 
Aye, I would be the bearer of the cup 
That holds thy wine of joy; to make thy life 
A richer one, and ever strive to hide 
The world's rude harshness, 'neath the wealth of 
love. 



MY BLESSINGS. 



I am trying to think of the blessings 

That come to this life of mine; 
But it is like counting the sand-grains 

That cover the hidden mine; 
Or like numbering; all of the sea-waves 

That break on the lonely beach, 
For manifold are the blessings 

That can never be told in speech. 



My Blessings. 93 



How can I number the blessings? 

They are many and fresh each morn; 
They crowd my life 'till the night-time, 

And, when the day is done, 
I turn to my silent chamber 

From the cares and the world apart, 
And cluster the golden moments 

As jewels around my heart. 

Aye, the moments are fraught with blessings, 

"Whenever I ask for light; 
Growth comes through toil and struggle, 

Day follows the darkest night. 
What matter whether sun or shadow 

The present moment may crown? 
If life in each has a purpose 

Then blessed is every one. 



BOSTON'S REVIVAL. 



They said the Lord was coining; that the Christ 

Who lived in olden time would surely work 

For poop humanity and save the world; 

So to this end a Temple must be built. 

'Twas when the winter winds were blowing chill, 

And thousands shivered in their tireless homes, 

When children cried for but a piece of bread, 

And human beings perished on the street, 

The Christians said: "Christ's cause we ought to 

serve, 

We'll rear a Tabernacle unto His name." 

Accordingly, long purse-strings were unloosed 

And some who had refused to feed "God's poor" 

Gave freely, saying: "Lend unto the Lord." 

What though the station houses swarmed each night 

With homeless wanderers who must beg or steal? 

What though the tires went out on many hearths; 

Who heard the prayers for wood and anthracite? 

What though young girls were turned into the street 

And left to sell their bodies or to starve; 
94 



Boston's Revival. 95 

When poverty accurs'd — was nursing crime, 
Who of the "upper ten" arose to say: 
I'll strive, the "lower millions" now to aid 
And help to turn the tide. 

Even the plea of honest workingmen 
Was said to be the whining of poor fools. 
The ministers — God's servants, turned away 
When e'er implored to help the world's reform ; 
"Come to our church," they said, "the Lord will 

give 
All that thou requirest." 

So, when the cry went out for bread, bread, bread, 
A thirty-thousand dollar Temple rose 
"For Christ's— for God's sake" — not for yours or 

mine. 

Day after day, a multitud'nous throng 
Crowds the vast Temple, and 'tis said that Christ 
Comes down and listens to their wordy prayers. 
And is Christ there — the Christ we've longed to 

see — 
The Christ we've hoped would come to save the 

world? 
Is the Christ there that healeth broken hearts, 
And pours a sweet elixir on tired souls? 
'Tis true that men exhort and pray, and sino-; 
But what proof have we that they work with Christ? 
Do they heal sick folks, give the blind their sight, 



96 Boston's Revival. 



Unseal deaf ears, make the lame to walk? 
Tell me, what miracles do they perforin? 

Boston's great Revival! what will it bring? 

Will giant error hide her ugly form, 

And in its place new truths eternal spring? 

Will crime no longer darken this fair town? 

Intemperance be swept away, and vice 

Forever vanish, giving virtue place 

Within the hearts of men? 

Will prostitution and its direful curse 

Be swept away? oh, tell me, ye who can, 

How much we needs must pray and preach and sing 

To do "God's service?" 

What means the coming of these praying saints? 
Were they sent here by an Almighty power 
To walk amono the wrangling Pharisees? 

O DO 

Are they commissioned with this solemn truth, 

That Christians bear no semblance unto Christ, 

Have they come here to tell the Church its sins, 

To aid and bless the honest, starving poor, 

To carry words of peace to prison cells, 

And drive the money-mongers from our courts? 

Ah! no! they've sold themselves unto the rich, 

They would not dare to tell the Christian Church 

How it will cant and lie. 

They tell us they have come to "serve the Lord," 

To save the souls of men; but be it known 



inscribed to a Young Girl. 91i 

'Tis but to save their "cauee." 

Oh! world! how full of knaves and fools thou art, 

Thy canting hypocrites, thy would-be saints 

Are proving to the genius of the age, 

Most miserable frauds. 



INSCRIBED TO A YOUNG GIEL. 



I am launching out on a wonderful stream, 

'Mid a world of beautiful things; 
Where shimmering starlight and sun rays gleam — 

While all Nature her melody sings. 
There are buds and blossoms that lovingly fall 

O'er the shore on the rippling tide; 
I reach my hand; I would grasp them all, 

Ere I float to "the other side." 

For me, there are throbbing strong, brave hearts, 

Dear souls who watch and pray 
E'er at the helm of my little bark, 

Lest I should lose my way. 
And they tell me the stream will not always be 
smooth; 



98 Inscribed to a Young Girl. 

Bright skies will turn to grey. 
And the fog must gather, but if I am true, 
"An angel will lead the way." 

They tell me the flowers that fringe the stream 

Can never become all mine; 
There are others out on the waves with me, 

Who would seek fair wreaths to twine; 
I can gather no more than my soul can use 

For its present profit and gain ; 
I must let their fragrance my heart distil, 

Then pass to the "golden grain." 

They say there are isles where my careless feet 

May tread upon "useless leaves;" 
That my hands must single the tares from wheat, 

"Would I garner but precious sheaves. 
And mines are there, with wealth untold, 

I must toil both early and late, 
Would I clasp in my hand the shining gold, 

And rise from my low estate. 

That brothers and sisters, some rich, some poor, 

Will tread those paths with me; 
Each delving perchance for the self-same ore 

On the isle in this crystal sea; 
Some who are great above me will stand, 

And usurp a victor's crown; 
Some will be weak — I must pray the hand 

Of an angel to help them on. 



Love Songs. 99 

They tell me that snares may entangle my feet 

Lest I carefully guard my way; 
That flattery's voice is winning and sweet, 

But her smile will oft betray. 
If I would he true, I must wear no mask, 

But ask the "Powers on high" 
To interpret the questions my soul would ask, 

Nor live to the world a lie. 



LOVE SONGS. 



They say all songs are love-songs 

That bring our darlings near. 
And all day long a sweet strain 

Has fallen on my ear. 
It has echoed from the branches 

It has met me 'mid the flowers, 
And woven sweetest music 

For the march of these spring hours. 

It came in early morning 

To my being like a psalm; 
Its tone was one of mao-ic, 



100 Love Songs. 

And wrought of chaos, calm. 
And O, the sweetest dreamings 

Within my spirit's sphere, 
Were fraught with cherished presence 

Of all whom I hold 'dear. 

Love, like a star of beauty, 

Has illumined all the day; 
The future's dim-cloud curtain 

Seems no longer dull and grey. 
Life's purpose has a dawning, 

Leal souls, I know divine, 
With lavish love and beauty 

Are surging into mine. 

Can I quell more of harshness 

With all this wealth of song? 
Drink more of inspiration 

From the unnumbered throng 
That this moment thrill my being, 

As the sun the darksome earth? 
Soft-shadowed gracious influence! 

How can I count thy worth? 

Are these songs angel love-songs, 

That fall so silently? 
Wooing thoughts of Heaven 

From all I hear and see? 
Then I am rich in spirit — 



Love Songs. 101 

In the inner heart that shines 
Life's peerless wealth immortal 
Love's every jewel mine. 

Oft may these songs of magic 

Breath sweet and holy things; 
'Till in man I am more trusting, 

And my heart's oft rusted strings, 
May sparkle in love's sunshine 

"With rarest hues of life, 
'Till I rise above all darkness 

To the gates of purer life. 



DESOLATION". 



Darling, why should I oall thee mine? I know an- 
another 

Is drawing from thy soul its passion flame; 
On thy heart's tablet, where mine own is written, 

Time has inscribed a dearer, sweeter name. 
I Seel thy spirit in its silence calling 

Not to mine own as in the dear old way; 
Forgive me, loved one, that my tears are falling; 

That so much tenderness has been put away. 

I do not meet thee with one thought accusing; 

I do not chide thee for the seeming wrong; 
But O, I miss the rapture of our love-dream, 

The glance, the word, the tender little song. 
Out of my life has gone the lovely glamour, 

The happy vision and the sweet content; 
Do all things change beneath a faultless Heaven? 

Those precious days! I blessed them as they 

went. 

Has the dream vanished? must I gaze, my darling, 

Upon receding joys as they shall fly? 
102 



Desolation. 103 



Can 1 be passive through the drear days coming, 
And meet them with a calm and tearless eye? 

I do not know, my woman's heart seems breaking, 
But I will ope the windows of my soul; 

For thy dear sake I'll strive to woo the sunshine, 
Perhaps may find some sweet amid the gall. 

Nay, do not chide me, list this once, my darling; 

Know'st thou my spirit now sees everywhere 
A midnight shadow setting o'er its pathway? 

A touch like frost chills all its atmosphere. 
I know thy soul has proffered seeming friendship; 

I'll serve thee then, if only at thy feet; 
I'll bide my time; I'll wait beneath the shadows, 

Yet all the days will be so incomplete. 



THE NEW KINGDOM. 



We stand in the dawn that precedes the New King- 
dom, 

Fulfillment of prophecies long foretold; 
Christ comes, souls are summoned; the dead are 
arising; 

Stones from sepulchral doors are rolled. 
The ghosts are unveiled; they come forth shivering; 

Skeletons drop as the ruddy light burns; 
Superstition is groaning, gasping, aye, dying," 

While in ashes and debris ignorance mourns. 

Stand aloof! O ye priests, nabobs and rulers, 

Make room for the army that's leading the van ; 

Drop your creeds, leave your laws and time-serving 

customs; 

Justice has promised redress to all men. 

Your altars have risen; rich temples for worship; 

The church -spires point through the clouds to the 

sky; 

But the "power of godliness" flees from their portals, 

And seeks its own in the crowd passing by. 
104 



The New Kingdom. 105 

'•The works that I do, shall ye do," said Jesus, 

"Give sight to the blind, and to the deaf, sound;" 
"Ye can take deadly things and they cannot harm 
you." 
In the Kingdom that dawns, this fulfillment is 
found. 
Christ came to his own and they would not receive 
him, 
The deeds that he wrought engendered dispute; 
The power was granted a more humble nation, 
And given to souls that could gather its fruit. 

"There'll be no more death," were the words of the 
Prophet, 

Still churches wear sable and mourn for the dead; 
Black draperies hang over beautiful altars, 

"God giveth and taketh," is tremblingly said. 
Wherever the "Power," there can be no more dying, 

Waking souls have caught the inspiring breath; 
They fearlessly tread as the children of Heaven, 

Triumphantly over the stream of Death. 

"I'll make a new covenant," proclaimed the wise 
Prophet, 
"I will write my laws in the most inward part; 
I will put them into the minds of the people, 

That from the true way they cannot depart." 
In the Kingdom that dawns, we read the new cov'- 
nant, 



106 The New Kingdom. 

'•Be merciful here; to man's weakness be just;" 
The doom has been sealed for old institutions; 
In human endeavor, henceforth be thy trust. 

Useless creeds, forms and symbols with dogmas we 
bury; 

Whited sepulchres open, the angels walk in; 
No longer is hidden the curse of the millions, 

Edicts go forth, revolutions begin ; 
Old parties shall fold their cloaks as worn garments, 

They served their purpose; we put them away; 
Heaven, earth and hell are astir, each proclaiming, 

"The crisis has come, the great Judgment Day." 

There are calm, brave souls that have steered thro' 
the breakers, 

Their night has been chilly, dreary and long; 
Unfaltering now they press toward the Kingdom, 

By experience, purer, through suffering, strong. 
No more doubt, no more fear, henceforth shall en- 
slave them; 

The law in their spirit, the record must be; 
At every step they will loosen some fetter, 

Till they stand in the Kingdom, glorified, free. 



IT WAS ONLY ONE "WOED. 



it was only one word, and yet sadly we parted — 

Since then, life lias been to me one shaded dream; 
He left me in anger, and I, too proud hearted — - 

To ask his forgiveness for a word that had seemed 
To be uttered by me as but in half earnest — 

O, why could I not my passion have tamed, 
And heard from his lips the sweetest of blessings 

Such as love like his alone could have framed? 

It was only one word, yet it parted forever — 

Two hearts that had sworn to be fervent and true; 

That had nursed the sweet flowers of friendship to- 
gether, 
Until to love blossoms they unconsciously grew. 

O, but one moment, they fell coldly blighted — 
Their ashes spread over my heart like a pall ; 

He left me in anger, and my whole life benighted, 

Just by one little word that 1 would not recall. 

107 



STRAY THOUGHTS. 



There are some experiences, which, when trans- 
lated into our book of life, become rare, sweet po- 
ems. Strip existence of its poetry, romance, emo- 
tion, and earth would become a mass of shapeless 
objects. A writer, I think it was Whittier, once 
said: 

"All things are tuneless to his ear who feels no har- 
mony within; how wearily the grind of toil goes on, 
where love is wanting; what is life without an atmos- 
phere?" 

Were it not for occasional rests from the work 
and tumult with the great world outside, we would 
never know what there is in the world of self, nor 
would we be able to reinforce the energies, or em- 
power the will. It is good for us to retire within 
our own little world and find what we hold there. 
While I do not seek to live in the past, I love it, 
nor would 1 be stripped of one of its experiences. 
Every tear becomes a rainbow through which some 
blessing has shone. Every soul-pang, the throe 

through which a better thought has been born. 

108 



Stray Thoughts. 109 



Every persecution a revelation of man's weakness 
and ignorance. "The grind of toil" never grows 
wearisome, save where nerve and brain force have 
been expended, and the physical demands its dues. 
Since my earliest remembrance, life has had its 
metaphors, similes and poems; the best poems of 
my life have been developed amid what the world 
would call severe trials and great sacrifices. Some- 
times the rhyming of the poems have been imper- 
fect, their rythms irregular, yet running through 
every line has been a sweet strain, understood best 
by my own soul, yet, for the want of language, nev- 
er framed into speech. Life cannot be dull when 
filled with Love's touching inspiration. Trouble, 
sickness, aye, death itself, is over -lapped by its 
mighty power. 



"GO INTO THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES." 

[The above subject was one of three presented for a 
poem by the audience assembled at Harry Hill's Thea- 
tre, N. Y. City, Sunday eveniDg, June 20, 1874 The 
following, and two others were written during the de- 
livery of Mr. Hull's discourse.] 



In this world there are drearisome highways 

Where the sunlight never comes down, 
Where the birds never sing in the summer 

And the paths are stony and brown. 
On these roads by the rough rocks and brambles 

There are trav'lers we seldom see, 
Whose souls with the world's sin wages conflicts; 

They are sisters and brothers to me. 

There are hearts that are yearning and tender, 
Whose pleadings we never may know; 

Their burdens — oh Heaven! they are many; 
They fall 'neath their crosses of woe. 

They're forsaken by Church and their kindred; 
Shut out from the pure and divine; 

'Till at length they curse even existence; 

Yet these are all fellows of mine, 
no 



"Go into the Highways and Hedges" 111 

I have seen some drowned in intemperance; 

Others, victims of greed and Inst; 
Who have trammeled the wings of their genius — 

In humanity lost their trust. 
I have seen in their eyes the reflection 

Of a light the world does not see, 
And from these, the sweet breath of affection 

Has often been given to me. 

We know out in these "highways and hedges" 

The proud and the rich seldom stray; 
Their religion seeks God in grand temples, 

Before costly altars they pray. 
But 1 have heard a beautiful message, 

And the angels brought it to me; 
It was this: "Go thou into the hedges 

And call the rejected to thee. 

Go, a temple there yet must be builded, 

From stones that are roughest to-day; 
And the one that was long since rejected 

The strongest foundation shall lay. 
Go and gather them in from the highways, 

There's material in waiting for thee, 
Do thy work well — lay pillar on pillar 

Till its top only angels can see. 



.NOTHING TO DO. 



"Oh, dear, if 1 only had something to do," ex- 
claims a poor slave of society, "there are servants to 
do the work in the kitchen, needle women to make 
our clothing, nurses to care for the children; I am 
tired of drawing and music, visiting is stale; I 
want to do some great deed, become famous and 
worshiped by the world, oh, if I only could, I would 
make any sacrifice, I would" — 

Hold on, Miss Flora McFlimsey, is it the want 
of something to do that causes your face to wear 
that look of impatience, your voice to assume a 
whine and your feet to drag listlessly over the car- 
pet? . Is it because you have nothing to do that 
you sit languidly in dressing-gown and slippers 
from the breakfast until the dinner hour, wishing 
some one would run in and gossip with you, "just 
to kill time?" Let's see if I can relieve you. 

Do you remember the little boy who asked Biddy 

for bread yesterday — the poor fellow whom you 

suffered to be turned away, because you had "no 

time" to listen to his story? Have you forgotten 
112 



Nothing to Do. 113 

the pale looking, delicate lady who called a few 
days since and solicited your aid in behalf of the 
sewing-girls in a certain ward in onr city? Do you 
recollect telling her yon had "no time to investigate 
such matters?" J wonder if you have forgotten 
the distressed look on the face of your wash-woman, 
as she turned from your home last Monday, and 
said: "Please, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't wash any 
more, 1'se too sick and worn out." Biddie told us 
she was sick in bed since, and asked you to run 
over and see her, you assured her you had "no time 
to waste on such creatures." 

Miss Flora, you are one of many thousand, who 
this hour are complaining they have nothing to do, 
yet golden opportunities are around them, as thick 
as the stars in the sky above them. Work comes 
to the energetic brain and hand unsought. The 
helpers of the human race, those who have earned 
enviable reputations, never waited for the accom- 
plishment of some great deed. Every day brought 
a task to be performed. In consequence of toil, 
sacrifice and devotion to the interests of humanity, 
loving memories have reared imperishible monu- 
ments to their name. It is only the person of be- 
numbed energies, unloving soul and indolent hands 
that finds nothing to do. 



BY AND BYE. 



We tread the way, no matter how it winds, 

Sometimes on flowers, sometimes o'er crag and 
stone ; 

To-day led on by hosts of flattering friends, 
To-morrow shivering in the storm alone. 

Backward, nor forward, nor to either side 

Can we turn ever, so the storm we bide. 

Sometimes we laugh and sing our soul's deep joy, 
Content with reaping what the present gives; 

Another hour, and nature wails in woe; 

In blinding tears we try to bind our sheaves; 

]S"ot knowing, caring 'mid our sob and sigh 

How much, how little grain we're storing by. 

What though to-day, life's current flows, 
And health is bounding in each tiny vein? 

To-morrow I may droop, and ah! who knows 
But I may writhe within the pangs of pain? 

Or cold and still in death's cold arms may lie, 

For all this waits me in the By and Bye. 
114 



Inscribed to My Mother. 115 

What does it matter? If the path I've trod 
Leads toward the Infinite, I know 'tis well; 

I will not questiou the Eternal Good 

That crowns the future, thoucrh I walk in hell. 

The prison, rack, the smile, the tear, the sdgh, 

Are only steps to the By and Bye. 



INSCRIBED TO MY MOTHEK. 

[Written a short time after the departure of my father 
to the spirit world.] 



There are angels hovering round you, 



o 



Every hour of grief to bless; 
Whispering words of peace and comfort 

Soothing with love's tenderness. 
Gentle hands reach down to aid you, 

Striving e'er to smooth the way. 
Voices often to you whisper 

Though you know not what they say. 

When the day is done, sweet mother, 
And the world is lulled to rest, 

Gilded clouds grow grey with twilight, 
And float down the purple west; 



110 Inscribed to My Mother. 

Then it is fond memories gather, 
In your heart they sadly fall, 

And your eyes oft turn tear-moistened 
To the picture on the wall. 

Where the soul that gave the beauty 

And the life, to that dear face, 
Mirroring forth the sweet expressions 

That to-day we love to trace? 
Where the spirit that spoke to us 

Through the lips, the eyes, the brow? 
Tell me, mother, is the picture 

All that we can cherish now? 

Kay, he is not dead, dear mother, 

All that loved us loves us still; 
Life is hallowed by his presence; 

'Mid our sorrow let us feel 
That his strong arm is about us, 

That his care is still our own; 
That the mystic world of spirit 

Is as but one step beyond. 



GKAMMAB, LESSONS. 



Last evening we sat in the soft moonbeams, 

And looked into each other's eyes; 
The breeze was ne'er more bewitchingly sweet 

!Nor the stars more bright in the skies. 
Brown were the dear eyes that looked into mine 

So loving, so fond and tender; 
Don't blame me, how could I ever "decline" 

"Kiss," of the "masculine gender?" 

He first "conjugated," the verb "to love," 

But it ne'er sounded the same before; 
And he asked me to say the self-same words 

And he gave me the lesson once more. 
If I had been silent, only a dunce 

In grammar, I would have been proved; 
I was bound to be an apt scholar once, 

And I answered, "first person," "I love." 

He next plucked a rose from a dew-wet bush, 

"With a manly and most modest grace, 
He asked while pinning it on to my dress, 



118 Grammar Lessons. 

Something about the "possessive case." 
Without giving me time to say one word, 

(Of course, just his learning to prove), 
He gave an example, 'twas simply this: 

"Possessive case," darling, is "my love." 

It is strange I never had learned before 

How close grammar and love were blended; 
But oh, do not think the lesson was o'er 

Or the "conjugations" all ended. 
"It is not a 'singular case,' " he said, 

"And my words I can readily prove," 
And leaning more closely his royal head, 

Said, "my dear, in the plural, 'we love.'" 

We next tried the pronouns, but strange to say, 

They would all run to "you," and to "your," 
Or to "me" and "mine," and no other way. 

But of one thing we were quite sure 
That we each grew happier all the while; 

(I confess without compunction), 
We've mastered the other lesson so well, 

That the next will be in "conjunction." 



MOODY" AND FALLEN WOMEN. 



I have just returned from the Tabernacle, where I 
have been to hear Mr. Moody preach and Mr. Sankey 
sing. The building was not crowded, yet there was 
an audience of several thousand. If the canting 

o 

harangue to which I listened is a specimen of Mr. 
Moody's preaching, it is surprising that such im- 
mense audiences flock to hear him day and night. 
For half an hour he rattled on, never lowering his 
voice, not once coming to a full stop (until at the 
end of his talk), nor did he attempt to make an ar- 
gument. His remarks were based upon the text: 
"They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of 
the firmament; and they that turn many to right- 
eousness as the stars forever and ever." He endeav- 
ored to convince the people that everybody wanted 
to shine. From the congressman down to the 
smallest school-boy, this desire, he said, was mani- 
fested. He then proceeded, in his way, to tell peo- 
ple how they could shine — shine in the "Lord's 

Kingdom." I do not remember as he endeavored 

119 



120 Moody and Fallen Women. 

to convince his hearers that it was possible to shine 

in the human Kingdom. 

He said he was gratified that certain ladies of his 

congregation had succeeded in their effort to raise 

"fallen women." As a proof of this, some of that 

class had been induced to come to his meetings. I 

o 

thought, when he made that statement, I would 
like to know how many women his cause would 
keep from falling. I don't remember as he said 
anything about fallen men. Just a few words con- 
cerning his work in that direction. In order to il- 
lustrate the point I desire to make, I will relate a 
case that has recently come under my notice. It 
is that of a young woman in this city, who, last 
summer, was abandoned by her husband, and thrown 
upon the charities of the world, with only twenty- 
seven cents in money. The parties are church- 
members. The husband works for Uncle Sam in 
the Post Office Department. Since that time, the 
wife has endeavored in divers ways to induce him 
to return, or amicably settle matters. She has writ- 
ten him (I have a copy of one of the letters in my 
possession), interviewed his employers, implored 
the church to intercede in her behalf, but to no 
purpose. Finally as a last resort, she wrote to Mr. 
Moody, stating her condition, and requested his 
prayers, also the prayers of the Christian Church. 
She wrote: 



Moody and Fallen Women. 121 

''I was abandoned by my husband last July, without 
provocation; was cast upon the world with a shattered 
mind and body, almost penniless. I am a member of 
the Christian Church; will you give the matter consid- 
eration?" 

This lady's pastor had previously been impor- 
tuned to assist her, but he had no time to look af- 
ter the affair, and Mr. Moody (though his custom 
was to publicly acknowledge letters from parties 
desiring his prayers, etc.) never acknowledged this 
poor woman's letter. To whom should she go and 
unbosom her trouble ? Some one had spoken kindly 
of Moses and Mattie [lull to her. Strange to say 
she called at our residence and requested an inter- 
view with the Spiritualist preachers. Of course, we 
could do nothing but afford her a little relief tem- 
porarily. 

What right had Mi 1 . Moody to claim he was mak- 
ing an effort to aid unfortunate women, when he 

o 

turned a deaf ear to the prayers of a deserted wife, 
and a Christian? lie claimed that he was saving 

o 

prostitutes; how did he know but that the woman 
w r ho begged his prayers was on the road to prostitu- 
tion? Why did he not send some Angel of Mercy 
after her, and throw around her the protecting arms 
of the Church? Fortunately, a kind friend some- 
time afterward provided her with employment. 

Mr. Moody said with much emphasis: "I rejoice 
that Christian ladies are laboring to save the pros- 



122 Moody and Fallen Women. 



titutes." I would inquire, what sort of "ladies" are 
they who go after prostitutes — I mean those to 
whom he referred. He spoke of Commodore Van- 
derbilt's widow as being interested in that work. 
He said she was a "praying woman;" that I do not 
deny, but it was currently reported that she would 
not marry Mr. Yanderbilt until he gave her in her 
own right and title, one hundred and -fifty thousand 
dollars. For this sum, she promised to be his legal 
mistress as long as he lived — aye, she sold herself 
as much as any prostitute ever did; so does any 
woman who barters her womanhood for gold, no 
matter whether for a life-time or one day. What 
difference is there, morally .speaking, between the 
one who sells herself for thousands of dollars for 
life, or for five dollars per night? 

]STo, no; Mr. Moody is not ridding the world of 
prostitution. He, with thousands of others, may 
continue to preach against it. Prostitution is the 
right bower of legal marriage. The world can only 
be redeemed from this and every other sin, by edu- 
cation. When the people shall have grown wise 
enough to make just laws, whereby woman will be 
emancipated from every form of slavery, she will no 
longer feel compelled to barter her sex, in or out, 
of marriage, and prostitution, legal and illegal, will 
be abolished. 



WHO CARES? 



What though my aching form more weary grows? 

And burdens pile around my tangled way ; 
My poor brain reels, its pain, alas, who knows 

Or cares for shades that cloud the busy day? 
No one to weave for me one little thread 

Within the web whose lines so tangled seem ; 
So I work on, tired hands and throbbing head; 

Who cares for aught my inner soul may dream? 

I see beyond, the eternal sunlit hills; 

Amid the din I hear a voice betimes, 
That strives my deeper sense of life to thrill, 

And out of discord weave a strain divine. 
But almost deaf and dumb and spirit blind 

I move amid the turmoil of the day; 
Who cares for dream, or thought, or song of mine, 

While in the valley as a slave I pray? 

O fate! O destiny, if thus it be, 

That binds the spirit in this cruel way; 

Why fetter pinions when they would be free? 

123 



124 A Prayer. 

Or chain to circumstances as to-day? 
But not alone the wine-press do I tread, 

I /eel from other souls unuttered prayers; 
Life's sweet hopes mangled in the strife for bread; 

'Twill soon be over, and alas! who cares? 



A PEAYER. 



Let there be many windows to my soul 
Wliere Heaven's inspiration may come in; 
And may it rise to grasp the highest thought 
That I can use, to make my life more wise, 
More beneficial to my fellow man. 
O, may the truth in plainest spoken word 
Be given tome, no matter where it wounds; 
May I grow strong to utter everywhere 
The deep convictions of an honest mind. 
And if men hearing, cannot understand, 
But seek to rend me for my simple speech, 
May I stand firm, for malice cannot harm 
"Where truth and virtue hold their iron shield. 
O, I would know the cause of direst wrongs 



A Prayer. 125 

That wring and torture hearts of noble men; 

I fain would learn to medicine sick souls, 

And give them joy and hope and everlasting peace. 

I'd strive to teach a better brotherhood 

Than ever church promulgated on earth; 

And then the envy, malice, cruel spite and lies 

That rears partition walls 'twixt man and man, 

Would be forever leveled; give me light, 

No matter where it leads, and I will walk; 

Give me wisdom, I will heed its ways; 

And when life's story shall at length be told, 

The angel, counting failures, will, I trust, 

Render the judgment, not what was achieved, 

But what 1 strove 'mid trials e'er to do. 



SPIRITUALISM. 



Wherever Spiritualism has gone, it has carried 
light and progression. It has spanned the river of 
Death — bridged it with magnetic love-chains. In 
the place of faith, it has put knowledge. The tiny- 
rap, the moving of ponderous substances without 
visible contact, the mechanical writing, unconscious 
trance and inspirational powers of the human soul, 
have each, in their turn, baffled the scientist and 
taken their place in the world to accomplish their 
own work. 

Spiritualism not only came to inaugurate a mighty 
work, but the angels have determined it shall be 
accomplished. For this reason it has attacked pop- 
ular errors. Its first aim, after having demon- 
strated the fact of man's future life, was to expose 
the superstitions in religions, and uncover the in- 
iquities of the church. Let present public senti- 
ment decide how well this work has been done. 
Free Religious Societies, Radical Clubs and Lyce- 
ums, Psychical Research Organizations, and multi- 
126 



Spiritualism. 127 



tudinous otlier bodies, have been formed, to pro- 
mulgate advanced thought and investigate the oc- 
cult in nature: these are the out-growths of the 
heresies that Spiritualism has carried into the evan- 
gelical orders. 

The leaders in these various societies may not all 
embrace the Spiritualistic theory, that, under proper 
conditions, those whom the world calls dead, can 
return and communicate, but our system of ethics 
has generally been accepted by Liberalists. All 
are agreed that church rule and priest worship will 
never rid humanity of its ills, or produce order out 
of chaos in the social world. They are conscious 
that moral corruption can never be wiped out by 
the "Moral Reform Societies," or checked by the 
prison-pens or the gallows. 

Spiritualism has steadily gained in influence; it 
has continually Hashed thoughts to the world, whose 
illuminations have penetrated the grim walls of the 
church, and the exposures of hypocritical priesthood, 
have been like the uncapping of a volcano. 

When first we listened to the angelic chorus as it 
floated down to earth: 

"We come, we come from our Spirit Home," 
we were spell-bound. We gazed no longer into a 
dark and uncertain future. Death had lost its sting; 
the voices of our loved ones were heard from over the 
mystic way; nearer and nearer they came to us, un- 



128 Spiritualism. 



til they floated like waves of music-tide over onr 
interior lives. "Beautiful! Beautiful!" we exclaim- 
ed, as we looked through the gates ajar and caught 
glimpses of the Spirit Land. Who among the early 
converts does not remember how we hung upon the 
words of inspired media? It was indeed a blessed 
knowledge that we were surrounded by fathers, 
mothers and friends whom we had mourned as dead, 
and we set ourselves to work in order to convince the 
world of this fact. We could afford to be ridiculed; 
the new revelation was all in all to us. 

By and bye the door of the spirit- world was thrown 
wide open. Not only our friends returned, but 
those from every grade and condition in life came 
back, earnestly pleading that something might be 
done to stay the terrible tide upon which, they, — 
poor, helpless victims, had been launched into the 
other world. Those who had been thieves, robbers, 
drunkards, prostitutes and misers, presented them- 
selves before the bar of the world for a hearino;, and 
demanded that we not only make an effort to help 
them rise, but investigate the cause of their condi- 
tions. This could not be done without invading 
Church and State; when the veils were pulled aside, 
all manner of uncleanliness was exposed. Do you 
wonder the people stood aghast and exclaimed: "Spir- 
itualism will ruin the world!" Spiritualism said: 
"Let the masks fall; if there are no uncomely sights 



Spiritualism. 129 



behind them, the world will not he shocked; if there 
are, Spiritualism did not put them there, nor is it 
any more to blame for what is discovered than is 
the sun for the exposure of ugly sights that are 
hidden under the black wing; of night." 

It is fast being demonstrated that Spiritualism 
has no side issues, and that no Spiritualist can be 
faithful to his or her charge in this age of revolution, 
who remains content with simply its phenomena. 

It ha? been said of my companion and myself, 
that we have switched off the track of Spiritualism 
and gathered up so many subjects foreign to the 
question, that,' as Spiritualists, we have lost our 
identity. 

We have been taught by our spii-.it friends that 
their philosophy is all-embracing; that it is impos- 
sible for human beings to be so low in the scale of 
life that Spiritualism, with its long, strong arms, 
may not reach them; that there is no stream of vice 
or crime so black, that it may not be penetrated by 
this wonderful power, no ulcer on the heart of so- 
ciety that its keen lancet may not probe. It knows 
no high, no low, no good, no evil, in the absolute, 
but recognizes everything that exists as true to the 
conditions that produced it. The work of Spirit- 
ualism in the line of reform is to study and remove 
the cause of crime, and instead of condemning crim- 
inals, strike at the cause that made them such, and 



130 Spiritualism. 



doctor and care for them as a mother would sickly 
children. There are many in the ranks of Spirit- 
ualism, who long; since became dissatisfied with the 
work of merely painting visions of the Spirit Home. 
The songs of the "Summer Land" fell jarringly upon 
their ears, while so many of earth's pilgrims were 
treading a Winter Land, rarely, if ever, feeling the 
warmth of even an Indian Summer in their souls. 
The bright imaginings of the "Golden Shore" faded 
from their view, as they found themselves standing 
face to face with grim realities. Involuntarily their 
souls would pray : "O, ye ascended ones, what of the 
night? Do ye keep guard upon the watch-tower 
over there? What signals do you see? Can you 
aid us in our struggle for better things?" In an- 
swer came this message: "The brave souls that 
have battled for freedom in all ages live to-day; 
they live for a purpose. Cast aside the picture of 
winged angels that exist only in the imagination. 
Your spirit guides are not supernatural or transcen- 
dental beings, who have no sympathy with the com- 
mon people. We can see more deeply than you, 
and we come, pledged to use every effort in behalf of 
humanity's weal. Behold the wrecks of human lives 
piled up as light-houses all along the past, caused by 
false systems and despotic laws. You pray, 'how 

long must these things continue?' We answer, un- 
ci o ' 

til the pulpit is leveled to the pew; until the serv- 



Spiritualism. 131 



ant can walk abreast with his master; until riffht 
makes might in the battle of life, and justice be- 
comes the rule of men." 

The one who has tasted the sweets of spirit com- 
munion, recognized their spirit-friends and shaken 
hands with them across the dark abyss, holds in 
keeping a treasure whose price is above rubies, one 
which he would not exchange for all the mines in 
the world. AYe long since abandoned the song: 
"Lay thy Cross at Jesus' Feet." The angels have 
put firmness in our hearts and strength in our hands. 
In the light of the new gospel many of us have 
seen our crosses slowly transformed to anchors, with 
which to make steadfast our loftiest aspirations. 

Spiritualism has not only put a new religious 
element into our lives and enlightened us with pro- 
found philosophy, but it has brought "healing on 
its wings. " The blind have been made to see, the 

o 

deaf to hear, the lame to walk, and many a new 
form of disease that has baffled the skill of the "reg- 
ulars," has been diagnosed and successfully treated 
by the uneducated clairvoyant. 

Spiritualism has gone on with its work in spite 
of the efforts made by persecution and prosecution 
to check its course. It has answered the needs of 
humanity as no other religion has ever done. It has 
responded to the deepest longings of the soul. 

As a system of morality, Spiritualism is the most 



132 Spiritualism. 

rational theory that has ever been handed to the 
world. It teaches that we must take the conse- 
quence of every act — that we can never find heaven 
when hell is within us. If we would live in a world 
of melodies, we must cultivate music in our own 
souls. 

Spiritualism teaches that death puts no pause in 
our existence — that we enter the other world as we 
leave this, and that eternal progress is the destiny 
of every soul. 



HIS SHADOW. 



My book without thee ne'er would be complete. 

Dear shadow of my hero's earnest face ! 

Were I to search Love's sweet and mystic lore 

For lano-uacre meet to symbolize my thoughts 

I could not tell how much his life had been 

To me, for near a score of golden years. 

Dear picture! I can read upon thy face 

The deep drawn lines, burned by suffering's tire; 

Time has touched thee with its mellowing shades, 

And weaves a silvery crown around thy brow; 

Yes, he has changed, dear shadow; but his years 

Put a kinglier presence on his form 

And set upon his loyal, manly soul 

Many a new grace. 

How tenderly doth beam the earnest eyes, 

Dear eyes! that oft I've seen with pity wet; 

Eyes that I have seen grow radiant as stars 

With inspiration of a kindling thought 

That fired his lips, and lit his cheek and brow, 

Until his voice seemed to reveal God's thought, 

And brought a benediction down to earth. 

° 135 



136 His Shadow. 



I'm counted poor in wealth of worldly things, 
But knowing that I hold within my heart one gem — ■ 
Love's priceless jewel, I should be content; 
It pierces all my soul with quickening light 
And "bears me heavenward. 

Dear picture! O, so true to life thou seem'st, 
I fancy I can read a secret thought; 
I know if thou could'st speak that thou would'stsay; 
"I'm glad to have a place within your book — 
Your little book that into being sprang 
'Mid clouds and sunshine. 
He whom I shadow here, has cheered you on 
And tried to make your inspiration seem 
A feast of holy things; by night, by day. 
His word of cheer has fallen; his soul love 
And hope for poor humanity, with yours. 
Goes out in thought, on every humble' page 
As one, you syllable each kindly word, 
For this, my place is given." 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



In the light of new thought, old creeds are abol- 
ished, old systems swept away, and old institutions 
left to crumble and to fall into the inevitable pit, 
that is ever yawning to receive the old. 

In all of this evolution, nothing is lost. The 

o 

genius that created, creates still. Human culture, 
or spirit unfoldment, builds according to the new, 
no matter how much it may antagonize the old. 

The workmanship of the old masters may become 
extinct; it is said, that Greek sculpture has nearly 
melted away as though it had been carved out of ice, 
or built up cf snow, yet who shall say, that the im- 
mortal spirit that conceived the design of the Greek 
sculpturing, beheld every model, before the chisel 
touched the rough marble, does not build upon its 
magnificent dreams to-day as in past ages? 

New races people the continents. Not only does 

the new race come with a new body and anew brain 

but with new thoughts, new spiritual perceptions, 

and the new wisdom eclipses the old. From a phys- 
io? 1 



138 The Old and the New. 

ical standpoint, we say, the new race feeds pn the 
decomposition of the one that preceded it; hence, 
every people is better than the preceding one, and 
humanity, with all of its frailties, presents a better 
race than ever walked the earth before, and prom- 
ises that the one to follow shall be better than the 
present, because the new builds on the old, and the 
grander light of each age makes a better condition 
for the coming age. 

The radical spirit hails the new, the conservative 
clings to the old; yet each is necessary and must 
be recognized. As the centripetal and centrifugal 
forces in Nature hold in poise the planetary sys- 
tems, so radicalism and conservatism hold in bal- 
ance the forces in society, and each is necessary to 
the world in its onward march toward civilization. 



FAMILY MEETING. 



[Written on the occasion of the family re-union of 
Samuel Copeland, which took place in Stoddard, N. H., 
Sept. 9, 1875.] 

'Mid the hills of old New Hampshire, 
In the land where lived the farmers, 
Stands a fair, time-honored mansion, 
Bounded by the waving corn-fields, 
Rustic gardens and green meadows, 
"While afar the stately forests, 
"Green in summer, white in winter," 
Chant their melancholy music 
To the wood -birds and the squirrels. 
In this spot, away from city 
And the din of worldly bustle, 
Lives an ag'd sire with his daughter — 
Lives a man they christened Samuel 
Of the goodly tribe of Copeland. 

In life's early, sweetest spring-time, 

To his home he took a maiden — 

Took a helpmeet and companion — 

139 



140 Family Meeting. 

One to love and labor with him — 
And they dwelt for years together 
In the farm -house, each contented, 
And they multiplied and prospered, ■ 
'Till around the hearth of Samuel 
There had played, and there had prattled 
Happy children — ten in number. 

Death, with pale and icy fingers, 
To the home of Samuel beckoned, 
'Till the flock was well divided. 
Five loved children, with their mother, 
Followed o'er the silent waters 
To the land of the Hereafter. 
Five live to toil in earth-life — 
Five to love and bless their father. 
Time sped on while other changes 
Came to Samuel and the homestead. 
Olden ties were torn asunder 
While the home-spot was forsaken, 
And he journeyed to the farm-house — 
Home of Hulda S., his daughter. 
And she blesses him with kindness, 
Giving unto him her right arm — 
Ministers in joy and sorrow. 

Samuel's children had been scattered — 
Some gone eastward, and some westward— 



Family Meeting. 141 

Lived in homes of their own making;: 
But their hearts beat warm and tender 
Toward the one who gave them being; 
So they met in kindly council, 
Saying one unto the other, 
"Inasmuch as he, our father, 
Soon will count another birthday, 
Let us meet and o-ive him feasting; — 
Meet in family re-union. 
Let his children bring their children." 
Came they with their great grandchildren, 
Making glad his heart with welcome — 
Making the old farm-house merry 
With the laugh and play of children, 
As was his home in the old-time. 

On the ninth of fair September, 
When the fields were in their glory, 
When the shadows of the forest, 
And the sunshine in the meadow 
Were bewitching in their softness, 
When in paths along the woodland 
Hung the luscious ripened berries, 
And the country lanes were charming 
With the tufts of grayish mosses, 
Then the guests in love assembled; 
Busy hands, with boughs of greenwood 
Twined a bower of rustic beauty, 



142 Family Meeting. 

"That the time might pass more g^yly>" 
And the young folks be contented. 

Pleasant was the day of feasting, 
Happy was the celebration, 
And the heart of Father Samuel 
Danced in joy at love's sweet measure; 
Children flitted through the doorway 
While the voices of grandchildren, 
Prattling of great grandchildren, 
Fell in mirthful tones about him — 
Revived visions of the old-time. 
Deft and nimble were the fingers 
That spread out the board for feasting; 
Samuel sat down to it smiling, 
There amid his own assembled, 
While above his head some dear hand 
Hung a beautiful inscription 
Honoring him, the aged father. 
When the day of mirth was over 
Eve stole on with quiet coolness, 
Then the guests from town and village 
Spoke, methinks, something on this wise; 

"We are going now, our father, 
To the homes that do await us, 
To the duties that may meet us; 
We must leave you here, behind us, 
But our love shall linger with you. 



Family Meeting. 143 

May no fear ever molest you, 
May no harm ever come to you, 
And no want of food or shelter 
In the home of your loved daughter; 
And we hope another twelve month 
May bring more as sweet re-unions. 
In the meantime, may the angels 
Bless you, and the pure, great spirits 
Keep you; farewell now, our father, 
We will each now homeward journey, 
All to meet in the Hereafter." 



MALE AND FEMALE PRISONS. 



I have just laid down a recent number of the 
Boston "Sunday Herald" which contains a lengthy 
article on a plan of a prison for women, now in con- 
templation in the commonwealth of Massachusetts: 

"How best to unite the features of punishment for 
crime, the reforming of the criminal, and such a rou- 
tine of daily life as would be compatible with these 
objects and the preservation of health, and an elevation 
instead of a depression of morals, is the problem upon 
which able and intelligent minds have long worked, 
without ever yet arriving at a satisfactory solution. 
But upon one point all are agreed; the buildings in 
which prisoners are confined must be of a kind which 
shall by their construction favor the administration of 
systems which have this end in view. And it is come 
to be generally acknowledged that without this desid- 
eration, no great measure of success need be looked for." 

This is good; we should rejoice that even at this 
late day, the officials of different States are becoming 
convinced that no reform can be effected by physical 
suffering or torture. This is truly a humane con- 
sideration, when we realize how miserable are the 
dens, in which criminals have been incarcerated, and 
at last turned out wrecked in mind and body. In 

reading the article I find many good suggestions 
1M 



Male and Female Prisons. 145 

and some correspondingly bad ones. The writer 
says, concerning the "position of: female convicts"'': 

"In our places of confinement for criminals, or even 
those suspected of crime, it is frequently found that 
male and female transgressors are huddled under the 
same r jof, guarded by the same officers, receiving the 
same treatment, subject to tho same regulations, and 
cared for by the same superintendents. Often it has 
appeared that frequent contact between male and fe- 
male prisoners was not an uncommon thing, and morals, 
health, and present well-being, have suffered severely 
from this state of things. A step toward reform, or 
rather, mitigation, was taken in this matter, when in- 
stitutions were established by private enterprise, in the 
Stale, which took charge of the criminal woman upon 
the expiration of her term of penal service, and en- 
deavored to supply that encouragement to future vir- 
tue, and that reform in morals, which the punishing 
institutions had utterly failed to notice." 

First, I would inquire, why should not men be 
treated as humanely as women? The public declares 
that "female virtue should be protected," but we 
seldom hear anything said about male virtue. Fe- 
male purity is guarded (?) by churches and institu- 
tions, but who presumes to give dissertations on 
male purity ? Girls arc nursed, petted and flattered ; 
boys taught that they are "coarse and rough" from 
their earliest remembrance. When a young girl 
departs from society's rules, the same society says of 
her, "poor thing! she was led astray, ensnared, se- 
duced." When arraigned in a Police Court formis- 
demeanor, the girl receives the sympathy of kind- 
hearted men (some judges have souls), while the 

boys may be sent in droves to the Island with little 
'10 



146 Male and Female Prisons. 

or no pity, and often taunted with the words, "You 
young rascals, the prison is none too bad for you." 

No one has deplored the condition of prisons and 
the surroundings of criminals, more than myself. 
I once visited a number of these institutions in the 
vicinity of Boston. I noticed that no efforts in re- 
gard to classifying was made in these prisons. Sweet- 
faced girls were grouped with old women, whose 
faces' bore unmistakable traces of a profligate life. 
Interesting looking lads, sentenced probably for some 
petty offence, were compelled to associate with gray- 
haired, lecherous sinners. I am glad that at last, 
somebody has conceived the idea of classifying crim- 
inals according to the gravity of their crimes, though 
this reform is extended only to one sex. If this plan 
works as anticipated, I trust the same regulation may 
be carried to the male prisons. 

One objection, and to me it seems a serious one, 
is that the sexes are to be entirely separated. It 
has been proved that schools, colleges, and all kinds 
of public gatherings, are morally more healthful, 
more inclined to improvement, and far more "vir- 
tuous," when the sexes are associated, than other- 
wise. But says one: "It is not safe for criminals to 
associate in that way." Physically speaking, what- 
ever will promote health, will act as a preventive 
of disease. Morally considered, whatever will con- 
duce to the morals and education of persons out of 



Male and Female Prisons. 147 

prison, will work favorably with prison convicts. 
The writer of the article under review says: 

"You remember that it has often appeared that fre- 
quent contact between male and female prisoners was 
not an uncommon thing, and morals, health, and pres- 
ent well-being, have suffered severely from this state of 
things." 

Very likely this is true; but is the prison the 
only place, where such contact sometimes breeds 
disorder? How about hotels, boarding-houses and 
even churches? I once heard of a case where a 
prayerful sexton was on very intimate terms with 
the organist, another man's wife, and their weekly 
trysting place was the holy (?) church. I have 
heard of revered clergymen breeding disorder in 
domestic relations, but who would be foolish enough 
to oppose the sexes from "huddling under one roof" 
in a church? Many a guilty, hypocritical soul looks 
out from under a "virtuous" mask. All the differ- 
ence between many of the criminals in prison, and 
those outside, is this; one class is caught in its gam- 
ing, the other is not. 

Does it follow that because men and women have 
erred and fallen, they cannot be congregated under 
the same roof without becoming lewd and lascivious? 
Some of the most lawless men on earth would yield 
their lives to protect woman's honor. 

I can conceive the idea of a home for those poor 
unfortunates, where a reformatory system of living 



148 Male and Female Prisons. 

could be inaugurated, where women and men could 
work, eat, attend meetings together, and order at 
the same time be maintained. I have visited chap- 
els in prisons, where curtains divided them into two 
sections, one for women, the other for men. Such 
an arrangement is unnatural, and an insult to hu- 
manity. Wherever the sexes are associated in work, 
or in public gatherings, there is more interest, more 
devotion and earnestness, less prying curiosity, less 
secret vice, consequently, less disease. 

When one prison in our nation can be turned 
into a reformatory home, where the criminals can 
be treated as though they were morally insane, idi- 
otic or sick, then we will have done more for our 
poor criminals than all the chaplains are doing, or 
can do in the miserably kept institutions, called 
prisons, where human nature is so distrusted that a 
partition wall, or curtain must hang in the place 
where God's agent is supposed to officiate, in order 
to keep men and women from debasing each other. 



AT THE PLAT. 



The footlights gleamed in their splendor, 

The orchestra sent forth its strains; 
The music rich and entrancing 

Met applause again and again. 
At length the bell rang the signal, 

The curtain arose, and the scene 
Of forest, river and mountain 

Were bright as a young poet's dream. 

In trooped the light-hearted maidens 

And their sweet-hearts, a happy throng; 
'Twas a festive day in a village, 

Morning came with dancing and song;. 
A feast was spread for a stranger, 

He had left those haunts when a boy, 
He would come with wealth and honor 

And a bride, hence every one's joy. 

The songs were charmingly rendered, 

The plain and soul-stirring words 
Thrilled hearts of thousands of listeners 

149 



150 At the Play. 

Like the notes of spring's merry birds. 
"Home, Sweet Home," the dear old-times song, 

Trilled out on the echoing air — 
Eyes that looked cold and unfeeling 

Unconsciously dropped a tear. 

The feast was ready; a love-bower 

"Was built of roses and vines 
Beneath a bell of bright silver, 

That would ring out the wedding chimes; 
The hero in brilliant costume 

Attired for his wedding day 
'Mid cheers approached to the foot -lights, 

But his face was ashen as clay. 

He stammered returns to greetings; 

He blundered through simple lines; 
Keelingly walked to the rose-bower, 

And fell by the fragrant shrine. 
Then groans and thousands of hisses 

From the auditorium rose; 
He failed to rise, and muttered, 

"The play must come to a close." 

He was borne away 'mid jeerings 

Of anger and harsh contempt ; 
'■'■He's drunk" was the hasty verdict; 

A friend to the green-room went; 



Questioning. 151 



He searched for the fatal wine-cup, 
But found on his table instead 

A telegram — only this message, 

"Come home, your poor wife is dead." 



QUESTIONING. 



The beautiful moon, like a sacred queen, 

Smiles down on the world from her realms serene; 

And shimmering clouds, like silvery wings, 

Drop low o'er the groves where the whip-poor-will 

sings. 
And the stars like millions of tapers burn 
In the deep, blue vault, and the low, soft moan 
Of the gentle wind, is an anthem-song, 
Whose waves over rose leaves are swept along. 

Does the music that vibrates on this world's shore 

Dear echoes of voices we hear no more? 

Out of the vast and unknown deep 

Does Heaven's murmuring music creep? 

Is this melody such as spirits hear 

When the shore of its native land draws near? 

Then it must be peacefully lulled to rest 

When it homeward hies to its loved and blest. 



OURSELVES. 



We may sometimes think. we understand our- 
selves, that we have scaled the heights and fathomed 
the depths of our own souls; but there is always an 
"inner room" that we never enter, a "hidden spring" 
that no divining rod has ever discovered to us; al- 
ways an unknown, an unanalyzable. No one knows 
his or her possibilities, because step by step we are 
measured. We sometimes congratulate ourselves 
that we have mastered some general law, but pres- 
ently it discloses some other, so-called, general law. 
There is no outside or inside wall, or bound, to our 
spirit. Nor do we know the latent powers that 
slumber in its depths. 

To-day we may be captivated with a charming 
poem, or delighted with' a magnificent musical com- 
position, and under their influence our soul rises and 
expands as never before. At length the muffled 
strings within our being begin to respond, and in 
its new growth, it speaks and sings to a listening 
world. 

We accept a newly discovered truth, and it be- 
152 



Ourselves. 153 



comes all in all to ns. In time, we learn that our 
truth is "a wheel within a wheel," and although we 
thought we had circumscribed our sphere by a magic 
circle, lo, and behold! some other, draws a larger, 
and so on ad infinitum. 

The best result of our to-clay's thought, will, in 
the future, be included in the larger and deeper, 
and more, the thought of to-morrow, may come with 
power to upheave all the convictions we have to- 
day, and marshal us into better intelligence than 
could possibly come with the old thought. All men 
and women may not be thinkers, but they suggest 
thought, and sooner or later, each soul will pass 
into the magic circle of evolution; it may be ages 
before some souls awaken to a consciousness of this 
fact, but it is the destiny in the grand order of 
things. 

The spiritually unfolding man or woman, knows 
there are no limits to the soul's powers. "When we 
appeal at last to ourselves— our souls — we learn 
that we are a bundle of mysteries- — aye, of contra- 
dictions. Our moods are varied, and belie each 
other. This moment I can write, think, talk freely 
on the subjects presented to me; I see no reason 
why I should not have the power to-morrow, but 
yesterday, I lacked the inspiration of the present 
hour; subjects which offer so much food for thought 
on the present occasion, were fruitless. Perhaps 



154 Ourselves. 

one week from this time, my eyes will fall upon 
these lines and I will wonder how it was I wrote as 
I do. 

Often in our progress, we lose interest in persons 
who once possessed attractions for us; we scale their 
height, we fathom their depths; they are no longer 
anything to us, because they have nothing move for 
us; we seldom weary of growing, inspirational, vers- 
atile people. They are capable of giving us a fresh 
thought, a new impetus or inspiration when we meet 
them. There are philosophic laws, underlying all 
this, and if we are true to ourselves, we must obey 
them, though often in so doing, we are judged fickle 
and unkind. 

Sometimes we are almost as gods; we question 
the very air; truth, love, wisdom respond; from 
whence? from spirit. 

Let us endeavor to hold all that we gain, and in 
every flight of the spirit, endeavor to soar above our 
last height. 



1 AM WATCHING O'ER YOU, MOTHER. 



[The following poem was written by request, and 
"Bloom" was the spirit name of the young lady by whom 
the words were supposed to have been inspired. The 
writer knew nothing of the significance of the name at 
the time it was written.] 

I am watching o'er you, Mother, 

Looking from the gates ajar; 
Oh, how oft you feel my presence, 

As the gleaming of a star, 
Lighting skies that would be dreary, 

Strewing flowers along your w r ay, 
Whispering in your ear my message, 

Though you know 7 not what I say. 

I am watching o'er you, Mother, 
Oft at morning's earliest blush; 

Gliding softly, when you know 7 not, 
In the twilight's pensive hush. 

In your nightly dreams I fold you 
Closely to my spirit form; 

And jou catch the inspiration 

Of my soul-life, fresh and warm. 

155 



156 / Am Watching O'er You, Mother. 

I am watching o'er you, Mother, 

I have seen you in the vale 
Of dark sorrow, while your wanderings 

Seemed with phantoms wan and pale. 
"When your hopes like idols fallen, 

Mingled with the dust of time; 
And your soul piled up the relics, 

Thought on thought and line on line. 

I am watching o'er you, Mother, 

I have spanned the silent sea; 
All your tender^, sweet heart longings 

Are but golden steps to me. 
You are blessed in sacred silence, 

Angel love and angel powers; 
For when crosses have grown heavy, 

I have wreathed them o'er with flowers. 

Earth may hold much more of Heaven 

Than you see within its blue; 
Joys untold,* undreamed of, Mother, 

Time will surely bring to you. 
Oh, be happy! let no trial 

"Weigh your soul with somber gloom; 
.Blessed by mortal friends who love you, 

Guarded by your angel — Bloom. 



SPIRITUALISTS AND MEDIUMS. 



"Would it not be refreshing;, if we could feel less 
of the influence of ism, ite and istf Those of our 
own faith are not exempt from it. There are many 
in our own ranks, who have simply transferred their 
sectarianism from the church, to Spiritualism; who 
have given up their belief in a personal God, and 
atoning savior, only to accept the ipse dixit of some 
spirit or Spiritualist, as infallible; such ones do not 
reason, do not progress. They see no need of Spir- 
itualist or Liberal organizations, of lectures or camp- 
meetings. If the spirit-world has anything for 
them, it will hand it down to them in their own home. 
TJieir guide never leads them wrong; their inspira- 
tion is always unerring, and because they are fed, 
they are satisfied, and deem it a waste of time and 
means to make any effort to enlighten the public. 
Their little candle is hid under a peck measure, and 
they are something like the Christian who prayed: 

"O God, bless mi and my wife, 
My son John and his wife, 
Us four and no more." 

157 



158 Spiritualists and Mediums. 

There is another class among ns, who consider 
that lecturers and mediums should give their time 
to the cause, inasmuch as the "gift" has been vouch- 
safed to them. Particularly, are mediums looked 
upon as being mercenary. Of course, I do not dis- 
pute but there are cases where exorbitant charges 
are made for sittings and seances, but while there 
are some — a very few, comparatively speaking — 
who have accumulated property through their me- 
diumship, think of the thousands who have yielded 
their life, to satisfy the demands of humanity, and 
left to their children the only legacy an honest pau- 
per can leave. Think of the broken-down constitu- 
tions, that are struggling in the great battle for 
bread, that should be tenderly cared for by those 
who have been benefited through the life they have 
given; what has the return been? In addition to 
all this, they are held up by our opponents as the 
representatives of Spiritualism — particularly mecli- 
umship, and pointed at as "nervous wrecks, all the 
work of Spiritualism." And alas! too many of our 
own people withdraw from such, because they are 
"worn out" and can serve them no longer. Is it 
mediumship that enervates the man or the woman, 
or is it a continuous strain on the spiritual, mental 
and physical, caused by circumstances over which 
the medium had no control, and under which he or 
she was compelled to perform the amount of labor 



Spiritualists and Mediums. 159 

other people do, aud practice their powers besides, 
as the people from time to time might demand. 

The better the mediums, the more susceptible 
they are, and the more easily they are affected by 
surroundings. The more they mingle with the 
multitude, the greater the draft upon them, and un- 
less they can have time for rest and recuperation, 
they must fail physically. I have often heard the 
query, "•If a medium gives his time to the work, 
ought not the spirits to take care of him ?" Let me 
ask, why we should make so many more demands 
of spirits on the other side than on this side of life? 
But no spirit anywhere, can get outside of spiritual 
law. I hold that we, as mortals, may reach that 
point, where we may heal ourselves, to a great ex- 
tent, where we may recuperate wonderfully, but we 
mast have our conditions. 

I trust my reader will not think I am grumbling, 
I am only writing what every one who has consid- 
ered these things knows to be true. It is claimed 
by some that mediums should not go to campmeet- 
ings with the idea of making money out of Spirit- 
ualists. Such ones do not consider that mediums 
have their expenses to meet the same as every one 
else. A great number of them while at home, give 
half of their time to the public; they are even criti- 
cised for doing this. It is said of them, "they are 
not sharp;" "they know nothing about business;" 



1G0 Spiritualists and Mediums. 

but when a poor, soul-stricken person approaches 
them, and some one of their dear departed comes 
into the atmosphere of the medium and holds them 
for one or two hours, and the one who receives the 
ministration says to the medium, "I can't pay you," 
what is to be done? Do not accuse the spirits of 
being unjust; If you or I were denizens of the 
spirit-world, and onr love for friends was so strong 
it attracted them to certain media whom we could 
use, if we were able to stretch the magnetic wires 
over the silent river, and across it flash the evidence 
of our existence — of our love, would we take into 
consideration, the medium's strength and time? I 
think not. Remember such ones are returning con- 
stantly. Some must be sacrificed; if we have no 
means with which to help such, let us put no bar- 
riers in their way, and encourage them all as far as 
they can bless a single mortal. 



A HOME CALL. 



The days are lonely since thou went'st away, 

The silent nights, they creep too slowly on; 
'Mid brightest scenes my heart cannot be gay, 
A sigh wells up with every once sweet song; 
Joy went with thee, 
And I repiningly 

E'er call, Come Plome. 

Mine eyes are eager for thy cheerful face; 

Hope-dreams are dancing on my fevered brain; 
I long to welcome in Home's sacred place 
Thy manly presence; do 1 call in vain? 
With thy return 
The health will burn 

More bright; Come Home. 

Our little boy! the love pledge of our lives, 

Lisps every morning, " When will papa come?" 

At even-tide e'er closes his brown eyes, 

Lie sings, "I'll see dear papa in the morn." 

Joy went with thee, 

And thus, unitedly, 

We call, Come Home, 
ll 161 



GIYE US LIGHT. 



Spiritualism lias accomplished much in the way 
of convincing the world of immortality; it has 
flashed golden truths from its heaven-lit altar iires; 
it has changed the mode of thinking among phil- 
osophers, and caused the churches to remodel their 
creeds; it has not only bound up broken hearts, but 
medicined to sick and weary bodies; it has been a 
reformatory agent and a teacher, but O, how much 
mystery, after all, lies behind its simplest manifes- 
tation. 

How far has it pushed back the curtain from the 
shore that borders the land of the Unknown 1 We 
declare our loved are with us; how few of us see 
them come or go; those who are favored with clair- 
voyance and clairaudience, tell us little, compara- 
tively, of the Spirit Land. 

Many of us feel the sweet breezes of inspiration 

steal over our souls — inspiration that awakens the 

deepest there is within us, and by our intuitions, 

we are convinced that the spirit world is a reality, 

but who among us can convince another; i. <?., who 

162 



Give Us Light. 163 

of us' has ever been able to present positive proof 
to a skeptic? I would not be misunderstood; that 
phenomena occur, no one can reasonably deny; that 
it occurs independent of so-called mundane influ- 
ence, many skeptics concede, yet there is an un- 
known side after all, which even the medium and 
the most zealous Spiritualist does not comprehend. 

"We are told that babyhood unfolds into childhood, 
childhood develops to youth, and youth to man and 
womanhood in the spirit-world. Of what are their 
bodies made? and are they governed by the same 
code of spiritual laws that control our spirits while 
in the body? 

It was once the universal belief among Spiritual- 
ists, that spiritual beings never needed rest, that their 
powers were inexhaustible. This idea, in the light 
of more modern inspiration, is outgrown. If, as 
Ave are told, they pass into the other world as they 
leave this, they are finite in their development. If 
they were fully unfolded in all of their capabilities, 
possibly they would never demand absolute rest, be- 
cause, owing to the versatility of their powers, one 
part of their nature might rest while the other was 
active. Indeed, we have seen a very few persons 
who seemed almost tireless, requiring but little ab- 
solute rest in inactivity, able to recuperate lost en- 
ergy, by bringing different organs of the brain, and 
muscles of the body into play; in fact, have found 



164 Give Us Light. 

absolute rest by changing from one occupation to 
another. Such individuals are always nervous, ac- 
tive and versatile. 

Concerning the many manifestations in Spiritual- 
ism and our delight in them, there is always an un- 
known, hence, a dark side. For instance; we often 
censure persons for what we term, their ignorant 
skepticism and unbelief; they attend seances for 
materialization, see the forms under the most satis- 
factory test conditions, do not question the medium's 
honesty, but doubt the claim that is made for the 
manifestations. You and I, dear reader, may know 
they are spiritual materializations, but is there any 
power by which we may convince another, of what 
seems so clear in our own mind ? We may endeavor 
to give a treatise on "Spirit Chemistry," but even 
then, do we carry conviction to a mind that reasons 
from the material side of life? Can we demonstrate 
our position by actual knowledge? 

Thousands have witnessed wonderful slate-writ- 
ing manifestations (to my mind this phase is one 
of the most convincing), under conditions that pre- 
clude all idea of fraud, still do not believe the power 
to be super-mundane. Skeptics are interested in 
this phase of mediumship; and in the communica- 
tions they receive, they get the names of departed 
friends, test after test, and hundreds of words writ- 
ten in a few seconds' time, without any visible hands 



Give Us Light. 1G5 

coming in contact with the slates, and with every 
precaution that the slates should be free from all 
chemicals, yet with all of this result, the skeptic, in 
most instances, does not believe his friend dictated 
the message; not because he believes the medium 
to be dishonest, but the unknown side is presented 
to him; he asks, u IIow is it done?" we answer, it is 
either produced chemically, or electrically; our an- 
swer ends there; the interrogator puts a question 
under our last answer; we can only say, "we don't 
know; our physical senses cannot be made to com- 
prehend the work of spirit." 

Various phases of mental phenomena are being 
presented to the world, and these phases are probably 
developing more rapidly, than any other in medi- 
umship. One of the recent developments, psychom- 
etry, was formerly believed to be a purely spiritual 
influence; at present, it is an open question whether 
this is true, or is it the unl'oldment of some occult 
power in the psychometrist? May there not be some 
power in the earth-bound soul, whereby it may be 
projected (turned outward), and take cognizance of 
"the soul of things" in persons, and places? 

The clairvoyant (clear seer) need not necessarily 
be under the control of some other spirit, to delin- 
eate character, describe places, or locate disease. 
We possess spirit; we are spirit; we arc learning 
that there is a psychic world within us ; may we not. 



166 Give Us Light. 



as spiritual beings, feel our way to the spirit forces 
in Nature, and wrest millions of secrets from her 
great soul; who shall tell us, who can tell us, where 
the dividing line between our soul and some other 
may be drawn? Who can tell us what belongs to 
the spiritual and what to the so-called material world ? 
I apprehend when we shall have reduced all substance 
to its last analysis, we shall be compelled to say, all 
reality is soul. 

We claim that Spiritualism has revealed won- 
derful things concerning the spirit, or "Summer 
Land." Let us not deceive ourselves, we know but 
little. We believe it is not far off, but how mea- 
gre is our actual knowledge concerning it; we have 
endeavored to reach it through gross materiality, 
and call ao-ain and again for manifestations that ap- 
peal to the senses alone. 

O, how vast is the field before us; its extended 
plains are unexplored; the temple is seen in the dis- 
tance; a few have reached it, but who has been ad- 
mitted? Libraries are there whose endless shelves 
are piled with volumes, rilled with Spirit-lore; labo- 
ratories are there, waiting for experimentalists in 
spiritual chemistry; schools are there, where the as- 
piring soul may receive according to its demand for 
wisdom and knowledge in the spiritual; how shall we 
reach the desired goal? How shall we receive the 
light by which our steps may be guided? The torch 



Give Us Light. 1G7 



must be lighted in our own being. The question 
with us should be, not, "how many marvelous things 
can I behold in Spiritualism ?" but, "how much can 
I comprehend?" If Spiritualism is true, the phil- 
osophers, sages and poets are beyond us; will they 
come down to us, or must we reach up to them? 

We know, that in many instances the occult forces 
of being, so grand of themselves, have been used to 
the detriment of their possessor, but should this 
weaken our powers, or enervate us for our work? 
We often witness grand powers, whose manifesta- 
tions are unreliable, and unsafe to follow. 

Reader, do not put me down as a skeptic; no, no; 
if I am convinced of anything, it is of the fact of 
immortality; I hold communion with "the so-called 
dead," every day of my life; I have seen them, 
shaken hands with them, felt their pure life surg- 
ing into mine; felt the breath of holy inspiration 
over my soul ; notwithstanding all this, I sometimes 
look through shadows and see so plainly the un- 
known side; something; that never has been ex- 
plained to us, something we do not comprehend. 
But new hopes inspire me. I fancy I can see the 
dawn ; is it possible, in our cry for Light, to walk 
out into the open day? I believe it is; the unknown 
grows less; the darkness recedes as my spirit catches 
the inspiration of the hour; spirit must be touched 
in everything, the cause — the Alpha. 1 am not 



168 Give Us Light. 



content to limit myself to the realm of sensation; 
there is a world of causation I would explore. 

Up from the heart in Nature's breast, 

Cometh a revelation new; 
Borne on the pale moon's silver crest 

Twinkling in stars in Heaven's blue, 
Cometh a message: '"all is soul;" 

Matter shadows the real side. 
The Great Unseen, the Living Sun 

In which the secret power doth hide, 
Will stretch his bow from sphere to sphere 
When li we can read onr title clear." 

O, Give us Light; light that shall put new cour- 
age and inspiration into our lives; light that shall 
ill umine the with in, and guide us to the beyond, while 
yet in the form. Give us wisdom, not only to jpush 
back the curtain that hangs between the two worlds, 
but to raise it, that we may see beyond, and learn 
more of our own possibilities. 



MY BOX OF TREASURES. 



Light up the lamps and draw the blinds, 

Stir the fire till it ruddy glows; 
We're all alone to-night, sweet friend; 

Once on a time you did propose, 
That I bring from its hiding place, 

The olden box I love so well, 
The history of its trinkets trace, 

Providing you "will never tell." 

First, of the box; dear me! how old 

And very quaint, it looks, no dcubt; 
To me, it's worth its weight in gold 

"With all its treasures emptied out. 
The dear, kind hands that made it, love, 

And carved my early monogram 
Upon the lid, are folded now;. 

For years the grass has o'er them grown. 

First, underneath this dainty lid 

A paper's kept with tender care; 

Within its yellow folds are hid 

J 169 



170 My Box of Treasures. 

A tiny curl of jet black hair. 
Nay, do not ask me when, or how 

I came by this, 'twas a sad day 
The tidings come; so long ago 

The angels bore my friend away. 

"And what is this?" 'Tis a tuning fork; 

Such sweet duets we used to sing; 
Here is a song he wrote for me, 

There a piece of a guitar string. 
I fancy in the hush of night 

I hear his voice, but O, these tears! 
The songs of that time seem to come 

Over the plains of by-gone years. 

Here are some scraps of pretty silks, 

Pieces of wedding gowns, of course; 
The dear old girls; where are they now? 

Long since, knowledge of them I lost. 
But three — and four — and live, aye, six, 

I saw married so long ago; 
Weddings are such delightful things, 

When attended by one's first beau. 

Here's a picture — an ambrotype— 
Of a face once so dear to me ; 

Yes, w r e were school chums, he and I, 
He went forth to the ministry. 

And I — perhaps his folks were wise, 
They cast a gloom o'er my young life — 



My Box of Treasures. 171 

I loved the youth, 'twas not the thing, 
They thought, for me to be his wife. 

"Is the picture all?" Bless you, uo; 

There're letters by the trebled score ; 
Bits of ribbon ; he loved them so. 

Poems he clipped, we pass them o'er. 
Here is a flower he gave to me 

One balmy night in' leafy June, 
'Twas then I learned our two young hearts 

Were sino-ino; Love's delicious tune. 

Here is a button, brass at that, 

With the face of an eagle dim; 
From the blouse of a soldier boy 

Ere he marched to the battle's din. 
His letters? aye, I have them all 

Blotted with early woman's tears. 
Yes, he came home, but, dear, has been 

'Mong the arisen these many years. 

Nay, do not laugh, this little card 

With drawing marked, "this is a cow," 
Was scratched by a dear, baby hand — 

Nearly as large as man's hands now. 
I hear his sweet and rippling laugh, 

"Mamma, I'se d'awn a mooly tow, 
See! see! isn't ray picture nice? 

Mamma, I'se made it all for you." 



172 My Box of Treasures. 

Here is a bag the darling made 

One day, when we w T ere all alone; 
He played he'd come to visit me 

A lady nice, who lived in town. 
Each stitch is fraught w T ith some sweet word 

Of that dear boy; I can't forget 
One single, dear, bewitching way, 

To me, he is a baby yet. 

That little case you have, my dear, 

Holds my dear mother's cherished face, 
As she was in earlier years, 

E'er time one bloom had yet effaced. 
The golden curls are silvered now, 

The eye is slowly growing dim; 
Yes, she was fair, but sweeter far 

Her face, than it w T as even then. 

My treasures; there are many more; 

I hear a step within the hall ; 
"We'll put the dear, old box away, 

Treasures — sweet, heart-relics all. 
Then stir again the drowsy fire, 

The past is gone, we'll let it go; 
My darling calls, he is at the door, 

Happy then, yes, and happy now. 



SCIENCE VS. CIIRISTIANHT. 



The religion of the past, does not lit the man of 
to-day, and the intelligent person would as soon 
think of wrapping himself in the swaddling clothes 
of his babyhood, as to even have the appearance of 
putting on the religion of fifty years ago. 

Our grandmothers would have gone into convul- 
sions, even at the mention of revising GocVs word 
— the Bible, but zealous Christians deemed it a wise 
thing to do. Since the publication of the new revis- 
ion, others have thought there should be one more 
revision, so it will be, again and again, until sooner 
or later, the conclusion will be reached, that it will 
be much cheaper and easier to write a new one, 
than to attempt to mend the old oner, and less than 
one hundred years from now, somebody may sug- 
gest, that "it might be possible for men and women 
to be good people without any Bible." At any rate, 
we need no better prophecies in regard to this, than 
the churches are giving us. 

The Church claims to have been the civilizer of 

the world, when in reality, it has fought every re- 

173 



174 Science vs. Christianity. 

form, inch by inch, endeavored to crush science, and 
it has always been a persecutor of liberal thought. 

At one time, the church upheld slavery and op- 
posed the Temperance movement. History bears 
records of terrible church persecutions of scientists 
and inventors. 

Christianity can never reform the world. The 
gist of the whole system is, that the most wretched, 
miserable debauchee that crawls on this earth, may, 
by a twist of the theological wrist, receive a pass- 
port into a world of happiness, on the merits of a pure, 
guileless being, who never committed a sin, never 
breathed an impure thought, or cherished an un- 
kind feeling. In other words, "Jesus paid it all." 
Such a theory is damaging. In the first place, it 
is based on injustice, and in the second, it takes 
away all individual responsibility, and when hu- 
manity is robbed of its responsibility, it is robbed of 
its dignity. The doctrine of "pardon of sin," has 
been a curse to the human race. 

We cannot proceed very far in the investigation 
of social or moral science, without discovering how 
utterly absurd, is the doctrine of total depravity, 
even from the Christian's standpoint. A good 
church-member said to me a short time since, "the 
idea of total depravity is not generally accepted 
now." Very good; if this is true, why not remodel 
the creeds, instead of inviting persons to subscribe 



Science vs. Christianity. 175 

o any article of faith to which the better judgment 
gives the lie? 

Science has for many years, been delving under 
the surface of things, endeavoring to get at the 
causes of human suffering and weakness. She ac- 
knowledges the terrible results that are apparent 
on every hand, and reveals the fact, that under the 
ebb and How of the mighty tide of circumstances, 
every soul, every brain, every body, no matter how 
low in the scale of development, is true to the con • 
dition in which it lives. We may censure, we may 
condemn, aye, and we may pity, but Science does 
not hold in its vast vocabulary, the term, "Total 
Depravity." What bigoted Churchanity labels "de- 
pravity," will, by a more enlightened people, be 
called, deformity. A. deformity entailed by bad 
surroundings before birth, incorrect training, and a 
false system of education. The time will surely 
come, when we shall see in the most debauched and 
wretched creature on earth, naught but sickly and 
unbalanced human nature. 

The world has furnished innumerable instances 
that this doctrine is true. Who ever knew an indi- 
vidual who had grown to manhood or womanhood, 
who never had cherished one good thought, or done 
one good deed? How many instances have oc- 
curred, when "the worst man in the community," 
so-called, has done a heroic deed, as in times of 



170 Science vs. Christianity. 

conflagrations, floods, or other calamities, where a 
human life was imperiled. That one deed has some- 
times caused an entire community to bow in ad- 
miration, and extend homage to the supposed de- 
praved man. 

Some of America's and England's best poets, 
painters and musicians, have been given to dissipa- 
tion and vice, destitute of all moral principle; yet 
at times, they have written, painted and sung, as 
though they were under the inspiration of a God. 
Their spiritual and mental being, seemed some- 
times wrapped in a spell; while in this condition, 
they have dried the tears of anguish, healed the 
broken-hearted, and seemingly, united man to all 
the beautiful in Nature. The genius of these mas- 
ters gave them the power to bind and sweep the 
earth, span its waters, and touch the stars. But 
when this power had passed over them, how the 
world has mourned the fact that the man — the real 
man was so morally deformed; poor, immature 
human nature! An enlightened humanity will say, 
"let us solve the mystery that enshrouds thy being; 
let us appeal to the better qualities of thy soul, and 
strive with love, not pity, justice, not charity, to 
inspire thee with a thought that shall command thy 
best powers, and marshal into activity the good, 
and not its opposite, within thee. 

Gradually, will the world forsake the Bible as a 



Science vs. Christianity. 177 

moral, as, long since, it forsook it as an intellectual 
guide. "We would laugh at the one who would seek 
to instruct us in these days of science and philoso- 
phy, that a God literally spoke in the thunder, or 
spent his wrath in the lightning; that disease, mis- 
fortune and calamities, were the inflictions of God 
in consequence of his displeasure, over some foolish 
saying, or unwise act of ours. We would consider 
the individual a fool, who argued the world was 
flat hecause the Bible refers to the "four corners of 
the earth." No intelligent minister attempts to 
prove the wisdom of God by referring to the story 
of creation as recorded in Genesis, yet all of these 
ideas were commonly accepted before Science proved 
them to be untrue. 

With all of the Bibles, what knowledge had. we 
of this vast universe, until the torch of Science 
was lighted, and we, by that light, went down into 
the caverns — into the heart of our earth-mother, and 
wrested millions of secrets from her keeping? How 
patiently Science has drilled the mighty boulders 
in river and on mountain, to learn when, and how, 
and of what they were made. In response to every 
blow of the hammer, how eloquent was the preach- 
ing of the rocks and stones; they handed out solid 
facts, but they were contradictory to some of the 
statements of the Bible. The keen eye of Science 
discerned the curious hieroglyphics carved on the 



178 Science vs. Christianity. 

forest trees, and revelations were made, contradic- 
tory to the statements of Moses; they were found 
to be older, by thousands of years, than the earth was 
supposed to have been. Science turned the tele- 
scope toward the clouds; new planets were discov- 
ered, worlds peeped over worlds, and we have learned, 
that our earth, compared with other planets, is as a 
speck in the universe of worlds. 

We had been taught that the flowers and forest 

o 

leaves had been painted by the invisible fingers of 
an Almighty Father to charm the eye of man ; that 
the earth had put forth bud and blossom, in order 
to make it a beautiful place in which to live. Sci- 
ence gave us the revelation that the orange, blue 
and red, of the flowers, and green, of the leaves, all 
depended on the play of the sunbeams. 

We are becoming more and more convinced, that 
the beauty of our earth, once attributed to the per- 
sonal supervision of a God, is the result of chem- 
ical action, in the great laboratory of Nature. As 
we come to this knowledge, we must lose our ven- 
eration for much that was once believed to be the 
especial handiwork of a God. 

The Bible is no longer received by the masses as 
an intellectual guide; just as truly as we have de- 
parted from it in one respect, so shall we in others, 
as we become philosophers. 

The philosophy of reform is a great subject ; as we 



Science vs. Christianity. 179 

go into its investigation, we learn that the attitude of 
the Christian Church toward so-called sinners is en- 
tirely wrong. Churches are organized throughout 
the land ; Evangelical Alliances and Institutes meet 
from time to time, in great conventions; for what? 
to devise ways and means by which humanity may 
be uplifted from its present degradation? to work 
out some practical method, whereby the hungry 
may be fed, the naked clothed, the homeless sheltered, 
and the laboring masses receive justice at the hands 
of their oppressors? Do the Christian leaders make 
an effort to know why it is that so frequently the 
school-rooms and dormitories in houses of correction, 
can hardly furnish accommodations for the children 
who are condemned to these places? Do they put 
forth efforts to ameliorate the condition of those 
who live in sqalid want, in the miserable dens in 
tenement rows in our large cities? No; the old 
theme of "Christ and him crucified," is ever brought 
forward, and Jesus, discussed as a means of salva- 
tion. Great Heavens ! think of reforming a hungry, 
homeless, heart-sick, sin-sick world on any such plan 
as these high-salaried, well-kept Christian ministers 
propose! ]S r o, no! their system has no soul in it — ■ 
nothing to serve as an impetus for man to serve 
man/ the poor wretches are admonished to work 
on, to labor for "Christ's sake," and "the glory shall 
be given to God." 



180 Science vs. Christianity. 

The intelligent reformer, knows he might as well 
read the Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments 
to a herd of cattle as to a crowd of half-fed, half- 
clothed men and women, whose moral senses have 
been benumbed by frequent contact with vice and 
crime, or whose brains are paralyzed by tobacco 
and whisky. The true reformer knows there never 
can be diviner service rendered than that rendered 
from man to man. u The world is his country, his 
religion to do good." The true philosopher never 
asks God to do for any human being, what he can 
do for him, through his own exertions. 

Science never seeks to pu?iis7i a criminal, but to 
search out the cause of crime; it then, with rational 
methods, seeks to remedy and establish conditions 
where criminals cannot exist; aye, cannot he bom; 
a large percentage of criminals are born, not made 
after their advent into this world. The deadly 
upas tree can never be killed by plucking off its 
leaves; the axe must be lain at its root, and every 
condition destroyed, for the uprising of a single 
branch. 

When we go into the realm of science as students, 
we must prepare to meet facts as they are. Beau- 
tiful theories cannot destroy a fact, no matter how 
homely that fact may be. 

It is not in the province of this essay, to go into 
a discussion on the law of heredity, but physicians 



Science vs. Christianity. 181 

and philosophers are giving the world a vast amount 
of useful information on this topic. Everybody 
who has given serious thought to this subject 
knows that consumption, scrofula, cancer and mul- 
titudinous forms of disease, are, through ignorance, 
handed down from generation to generation. The 
time is coming, when we will be compelled to admit 
that murder, kleptomaniacy, and other crimes, be- 
sides millions of vices, are inherited. Then we 
shall have as much compassion for the criminal as 
we have now for the consumptive. When we shall, 
as a people, come to this understanding, we will erect 
more asylums and fewer prisons; and inaugurate a 
system of reform to take the place of punishment. 
Christianity, with all its temperance organiza- 
tions and alliances, formed to put down intoxication, 
will never accomplish the desired end. In some in- 
stances, through compulsory methods, intemper- 
ance may be held in check, but such measures do 
not inaugurate reforms. There can be no such 
thing as a compelled virtue. In a community of 
truly temperance people, whisky barrels might stand 
on every street corner, and a "free drink" be offered 
anybody that desired, and yet never a drop would 
be tasted. It is the test of virtue that develops 
character. The individual who is truthful, because 
he loves the truth, and does right because he loves 
the right, is virtuous. 



182 Science vs. Christianity. 

Bibles cannot accomplish the work of the world's 
reformation; precepts will fail. Nothing but edu- 
cation, will awaken in the human race a conscious- 
ness of dignity. I trust in the upward tendencies 
of humanity; in its struggle for freedom and light; 
its honest endeavors will eventually lead to wisdom, 
hope, moral exertion; hence, to elevation. 



OCTOBEK. 



October is gilding the mountain-tops, 

Her hectic flush rests on the plain ; 
The forests are wonderfully solemn now, 

The streamlets sine: a mournful strain. 
The shadows fall deeper in wooded paths, 

The grasses are yielding their emerald hue; 
A few sweet flowers in the sheltered walks 

Look wistfully up, as if they knew 
That soon bright October's frosty breath 
Would leave on their petals the kiss of Death. 

\Yhy is it that sadness lingers o'er all 

The beautiful earth, in the Autumn-time? 
And why are the songs the poet sings. 

Minor strains, with a sweet, sad rhyme? 
"Why is it that Memory folds more close 

Beautiful dreams that hope forsook? 
Pressed to our heart as faded flowers 

Are cherished within some treasured book; 

We feel some loss, in a subtle way, 

In the flush of a bright, October day. 

183 



SORROW. 



Sorrow is godlike; sorrow is grand; 

It unbinds the spirit with wonderful hand. 

In the greatest of souls it seeks for a home, 

And the crown of all crowns was plaited of thorns. 

Sorrow deals tenderly — never in vain; 
Works out its blessings in tears and in pain; 
'Tis the magical billow on which the heart rolls, 
'Tis the test of all truths and the searcher of souls. 

Sorrow uncovers what once was concealed; 

Mystery on mystery is kindly revealed, 

'Till the soul no longer a prisoner is bound. 

It wakes! a new earth and new heaven are found. 

How close the soul's walls! how narrow the way! 
How w 7 eak are its pinions ! till at length, day by day, 
They widen and lengthen and tremble with power, 
Then, unfledged, with new life, thev heavenward soar. 

Behind every note of a beautiful song — 

No matter how joyous the words or the tone — 
184 



Plain Truths. 185 



Are the relative minors; and whenever they fall 
On the fine, cultured ear, they are sweetest of all. 

Sorrow, sweet angel, I know thou wilt bless; 

1 know thy keen blows all mean tenderness. 

I will not approach thee with dread, slavish fear! 
For what are the natures that ne'er suffered here? 



PLAIN TRUTHS. 



Is there a greater curse resting over our country 
at the present time, than that of indolent, idle tyr- 
anny, and heart-aching, back-breaking labor? 

It has been said that men make God after their 
own image; if that is true, I fancy there have been 
times, when, if a God could have been sculptured 
out by our American people, and given a name, as 
well as a form, some curious looking specimen would 
have been drawn up, representing closely an armed 
Ivomie, and might have been christened the, "Di- 
vinity of Politics." I know of no other God that 
wields so much power in our land to-day, save the 
Mammon God. 



186 Plain Truths. 



Between the two old parties, there seems but lit- 
tle choice. Neither, will work a reform in govern- 
ment. Old parties never have, never will. 

Ours is called a civilized nation; civilized! think 
of it! It sanctions war and commits murder; it sup- 
ports an army of drilled fighting men, and has col- 
leges for the training of young men who desire to 
become skilled in murder. 

Has it not always been an armed battery? Has 
not its voice in controversies been the reports of 
cannons? Has not its force been the bayonet? 

Christianity thunders from the pulpit, "Thou 
shalt not kill," but, notwithstanding this injunction, 
nearly every state in the Union demands blood for 
blood. 

It is not only considered immoral, but criminal, 
to knock a man down, but a policeman, sheriff, or 
military officer can do it with impunity. 

"Thou shalt not steal," says Christianity again; 
yet our government legalizes the monopolistic, rail- 
road, land and other steals. The boy who has not the 
means to buy his supper, steals a loaf of bread, and 
is arrested; the man who steals a million is honored. 
All moral law must seek to stimulate moral actions, 
and moral actions must always be the -outworking 
of moral qualities, either in an individual, or a com- 
munity. 

In these days of agitation, when the working 



Plain Truths. 187 



classes are virtually enslaved all over the country, 
when the wealth of the nation is passing into the 
hands of the few, when lovely farms, that have been 
tilled by some of the noblest sons of toil are passing 
into the hands of speculators, when monopoly's iron 
grasp is upon every productive enterprise in the 
country, when men aspire to national offices, merely 
for the "spoils" and power, then when we consider 
that it is almost impossible for honest men to be 
elected to seats in the state or national assemblies, 
the outlook is truly discouraging. 



GLOAMING FANCIES. 



The gorgeous dyes of the sunset 
Have faded, and somber shades 

Fall quietly over the hill-tops, 
And nestle in woodland glades. 

I sit in the gloaming half -dreaming, 

From the book of memory gleaning 
Beautiful, golden leaflets 

Of which the volume is made. 

As I turn the mystic pages, 
And 1 trace them o'er and o'er, 

I find names of many a dear one 
Who long since passed on before. 

I know in bright homes they are dwelling, 

But my tears from love's fount are welling 
Love that never knows changing, 
Fain would their presence restore. 

I fancy amid the shadows 

The loved of the olden time 
Are haunting my quiet study 

"With their music and their rhyme. 



188 



Gloaming Fancies. 189 

"Tis the hour of my soul's devotion, 
And it thrills with a strange emotion; 
I seem to hear faint whispers 
In answer to thoughts of mine. 

Aye, I know the dear departed 

Return at the gloaming hour; 
And strive with tender influence 

To impart a holy power; 
And infil my being with gladness 
Removing all traces of sadness, 

Bring-incr a word of wisdom 

From the super-mundane shore. 



IF I SHOULD DIE. 



If I should die, 
Many an one a tender word would pay — 
Words my poor spirit would so love to-day, 
Foes would turn friends and e'en true homage pay, 

Were I to die. 

If I should die, 
The little good IVe done would shine more bright, 
Faults be buried in oblivion-s night, 
And praise, not blame, would seek to make all right, 

Were I to die. 

If I should die, 
Kind friends with flowers my coffin would adorn, 
Place sweetest roses on my senseless form, 
And kindly press my hands while tears fell down, 

Were I to die. 

Friends, do not wait 
'Till frozen are my heart's now aching cords, 
To utter loving, sweet and tender words; 

190 



Thoughtlessness. 191 



And if ye have some precious flowers to give, 
I would have some of them while yet I live; 
O, do not wait, my foes until I die 
To put my faults and all your harshness by. 



THOUGHTLESSNESS. 



My heart is tender and sore to-night, 

All day it has beaten back the tears; 
My day has been full of duties rife, 

But my soul has been with by-gone years. 
Aud dear, the words that you only dropped 

In a careless way, have hurt me so; 
'Tis better, perchance; they've probed the fount 

And let the burning tear-drops flow. 

How strange are our moods, our thoughts and dreams ; 

We exult on mountain tops to-day; 
Ere another morn bursts with its beams, 

At the fount of the mount in tears we pray. 
O, happy the one who reads the page — 

The hidden page in the inner heart; 
And smother thought ere it touch the lips, 

Or add to pain one single smart. 



LABOR AND WAIT. 



O, say not this world is a desert, 

Devoid of all beautiful things; 
We crush flowers beneath every footstep. 

And ever some sweet birdling sings. 
Trust not to games of the chances, 

They delude the small and the great; 
The soul that sublimely advances 

Must learn to labor and wait. 

O, say not the fruit is all bitter 

That grows on the fair tree of life; 
We quaff not its soul quickening nectar 

When living 'mid envy and strife. 
We grope in a blinded condition 

And sigh for a more perfect state; 
Right effort will bring; a fruition, 

Then learn to labor and wait. 

Already the bountiful harvest, 

Is waiting the reaper's strong hand; 

But he who goes forth must in patience 
The sheaves for the granary bind. 



192 



Labor and Wait. 193 

Go forward and take the sharp sickle 
Of Truth, and trust never to fate; 

The earth will sure yield its rich bounties; 
O, learn but to labor and wait. 

Weep not by the graves on the hill- side, 

The home of thy loved is not there; 
Their feet have in silence ascended 

Heaven's archway by Death's golden stair; 
And often they come with a message, 

So near the Beautiful Gate; 
It opes not yet still they are faithful, 

And for thee will labor and wait. 

Could'st thou know the many dear faces 

That look through the shadows to thee; 
Or count the manifold graces 

That ripple to waves on Life's sea; 
No longer with sadness and weeping 

Would'st thou bow to mortal estate; 
Thy soul with a holy watch keeping 

Would yet learn to labor and wait. 



18 



SCULPTURING. 



What design, dear friend, shall we sculpture 

Prom the block we hold in our hand? 
We each have the chisel and hammer, 

Is our model ugly or grand? 
Shall we cut away the unsightly, 

All the malice, envy and pride? 
And every trace of ill temper, 

In this way shall the chisel be tried? 
It may hurt, may ruthlessly wound us, 

The chips be blood-stained when they fall, 
In order to make smooth the carvings 

The chisel must pass over all. 

Some sculpture a beautiful image 

When viewed in one angle alone, 
But the work is far from the perfect, 

When models of manhood are shown. 
There're half-sculptured men by the millions, 

In the galleries of life they stand, 
But few are the tireless sculptors 

Who chisel the rounded man. 



194 



IN THE PAST. 



This morning 1 picked up a paper 

Printed ever so long ago; 
A rhyming I sent to its columns 

(One that I scarcely would know) 
Looked at me from the time-worn journal, 

And it bore me back to the time 
When my soul seemed engulfed 'mid breakers, 

And I wove my grief into rhyme. 

Can it be that such strange, weird fancies 

Ever found a home in my breast? 
I wrote here about "idle chances," 

And "unanswered the soul's request; 1 ' 
I here penned a picture "of demons" 

That constantly swept o'er the scene, 
I wrote something about "a mock'ry" 

And "the remnants of a sad dream." 

Could this have been me? I am musing; 

I smile at the picture so grim; 

Not a shade o'er my spirit doth linger, 

No regret for one broken dream. 

195 



106 In the Past. 



The burden forever seems lifted, 
From over my woman's soul 

The shadows were long since rifted, 
And the skies are glowing with gold. 

I have learned in life's earnest conflicts 

No blessing falls from the sky; 
We drown the blossoms with tear-drops, 

And smother the good with a sigh. 
No demons will e'er cross our pathway 

If we watch for angels alone; 
And sweet or discordant, life's music 

Our spirit e'er giveth the tone. 



WE HEARD THE ANGELS. 



[By request of many personal friends, a large num- 
ber of songs, which have been sung congregationally, 
and as duets, in our public audiences, appear in this 
volume.] 

In earth's prison cell alone, 

Sat we 'mid the dark and gloom, 
Waiting for one token of the coming day; 

When a God from heaven above, 

Might descend in holy love, 
And roll the stone from the sepulchre away. 

CHORUS. 

When rap, rap, rap, we heard the angels, 

Then they opened wide the door; 
And they whispered words of cheer, 
Bidding us no longer fear, 
They would love and bless and guard us ever- 
more. 

Bolt and bar were broken then, 
As we felt their power descend, 
Message went from telegraphic wire to wire; 

1'.'7 



198 We Heard the Angels. 

Heart and brair. and pulse were thrilled 
By the magic of their will, 
Genius flashed with inspiration's holy fire. 

CHOKUS. 

While rapped, rapped, rapped, the loving angels, 
Standing in the open door, 
Always whispering words of cheer; 
Bidding us no longer fear, 

Loving, blessing us and guiding evermore. 

Superstition shrank away 

Under Truth's effulgent ray, 
Freedom burst anew upon the waiting world; 

Small beginnings, yet how strong, 

Faithful souls must conquer wrong, 
Humble hands the beauteous flag of love un- 
furled. 

CHOKUS. 

Still rapped, rapped, rapped, the loving angels, 
Standing in the open door, 
Always whispering words of cheer; 
Bidding us no longer fear, 

Loving, blessing us and guiding evermore. 

So these nine and thirty years, 
'Mid our smiles and 'mid our tears, 
In the stillness of the night and din of day, 



. Down by the Sea. 199 

We have felt the angels bright, 
Striving e'er to lead aright, 
And to guide us in the higher, better way. 

CHORUS. 

Then on, on, on, forever onward, 
Angels are watching by the shore, 
They will lead our steps aright 
Guiding e'er by day and night, 

We will love them, we will trust them ever- 
more. 



DOWN BY THE SEA. 



I stood 'neath the stars at midnight, 

Down by the sea; 
Its low and mystic murmurings, 

Were sweet to me. 
From its deeps rolled up an anthem 

Of cords unsung; 
And diviner was the music 

Than lisped by tongue. 

Flowers, trees and stars were preachers 
While the vast shore 



200 Down by the Sea. 

In eloquence responded, 

Ne'er heard before; 
Sermon, poem and music 

From sea and sod; 
Earth seemed, a mighty organ — 

Its artist God. 

The strange, sweet inspiration 

Of that lone hour, 
E'er since within my being, 

Has held its power. 
Prating priests and costly altars 

Are not for me; 
'Neath the stars I learned to worship 

Down by the sea. 



DEATH'S STREAM BRIDGED. 



Come friends and brethren, all unite, 
And swell the anthem grand; 

The glorious presence we invite 
Of a pure and heavenly band. 



CHORUS. 

Oh mortals, shout aloud for joy, 
Your glad hozannas sincr, 

The grave is robbed of victory, 
And death has lost its sting. 

Storm-tossed and weary ones of earth, 
Behold the resplendent etar, 

Which lights the stream of death across, 
And brings our loved ones near. 

Chorus— Oh mortals, etc. 

The so-called dead have been restored, 

We see them face to face, 
And life triumphant swells the song 

In spite of death's embrace. 



201 



SHOUT THE GLORIOUS TIDINGS. 



Shout the glorious tidings, angels come to-day, 
"With a message for earth's weary ones; 

See! the gates are open, friends are on the way, 
Let us welcome them with joyful song. 

CHORUS. 

Angels welcome to our homes we sing, 
May you hope and light and comfort, bring, 
Bless you sweet evangels from the other shore, 
We would ask your guidance evermore. 

Shout the glorious tidings, angels come to-day, 
Lifting up the shadow and the gloom; 

Truth, like a million torches, flashes o'er the way, 
Blessed freedom to the soid has come. 

Chorus — Angels welcome, etc. 

Shout the glorious tidings, angels come to-day, 

Mortals swell the anthem loud and long; 
Love, the grave has conquered. Death no more 
holds sway, 

Hail the spirit's resurrection morn. 

202 



THE BEAUTIFUL LAND. 



There's a Beautiful Land over there, 

Beyond the mystical sea; 
Where the dear ones await 
To open the gate 

AYhen earth's voyage ended shall be. 

CHORUS. 

Over there, over there, 

There's a Beautiful Land over there 
When life's struggles are o'er, on this 

shadowy shore, 
We shall dwell in that land over there. 

There are those whom we love over there, 
Who once to our earth-home were given; 

Affection's dear chain 

Has not severed in twain, 

The clasp is guarded in Heaven. 

Chokus — Over there, etc. 

One by one, dear friends cross the sea. 

The boatman parts the white tide; 

r 203 



204 Beautiful Shore. 

We see the bright gleam 
From over the stream 

That Death with its gloom cannot hide. 

Chorus — Over there, etc. 

We shall soon reach the port over there, 
We are hurrying on to the shore; 

It will not be dark 

When we enter the bark, 

Our loved ones will pilot us o'er. 



BEAUTIFUL SHOKE. 



Oh, have you not heard of that beautiful shore, 

Just over the mystical sea; 
Where the true and the loved who have gone on 
before, 

Are waiting for you and for me? 

Yes, that beautiful shore, 1 have seen in my dreams, 
When my spirit was haunted with care; 

My tired soul forgot earth's gloomiest scenes, 
As I watched for the loved over there. 

Sometimes the dear ones on that beautiful shore, 
Breathe a message to me half divine; 

I feel the warm clasp of their dear hands once more, 
And their fond eyes look kindly in mine. 



Invocation. 205 

I know we shall meet on that beautiful shore — 

The magical Isle of the blest; 
The boatman will tenderly ferry us o'er, 

And leave us with those we love best. 



INVOCATION. 

O ye angel friends above us 

Gather nigh: 
Ye blest and true who love us 

Give reply, 
To our soul's most earnest asking 

For the right: 
May we in thy wisdom basking 

Find the light. 

O, we oft grow sad while weaving 

Toil and care ; 
'Till our words of piteous grieving 

Turn to prayer; 
And we long to drop life's shuttle 

In the dust, 
But a voice doth ever whisper, 

''Wait and trust." 

So we wait a little longer 
For the day, 



206 Spirit Lights. 



And our trembling hearts grow stronger 

On the way. 
We will watch Hope's star forever 

In our sky, 
Time shall crown our best endeavor 

By and bye. 



% 



SPIRIT LIGHTS. 



O, there are gleams from many a spirit lamp 

That fall across the dusty roads of Time ; 
Sometimes they flash above the secret haunts 

"Where mortals think to hide a vice or crime. 
In lonely cells, where mortal souls leap forth, 

From bodies pining in the dungeon's gloom, 
In darkest natures that may grope on earth, 

These spirit lights reveal an "inner room." 

There is no man on earth fallen so low 

But he may break the brazen gates of sin; 
No woman's soul but yet its peace may know 

And ope its doors to let the sunlight in. 
Not e'en one life forsaken by all good, 

It may be waiting in a troubled night, 
But to reveal itself, be understood 

Quickened and guided by some spirit light. 



SHALL I KNOW MINE OWN? 



When I sit in life's beautiful sunset 

As it flushes river and shore; 
When I wait in the gathering twilight 

For the sound of a boatman's oar, 
Will the dear ones just over be waiting — 

Waiting to welcome me home? 
In that land of spirit and beauty, 

Oh, say, shall I know mine own? 

(Soprano Chorus.) (Basso Chorus.) 

Will I know? Thou shalt know, 

Will I know? Thou shalt know, 

When I cross the mystical sea, 
Will some dear one? Yes, some dear one, 

Will some dear one? Yes, some dear one, 

Set the gate wide open for thee? 

A dear one passed over the river, 

In the hush of a summer's sweet day, 

I saw not the face of the boatman 

As he launched my dear one away. 

J * 207 



208 Shall J Know Mine Own? 

But I know my darling — my angel 

Lives, over the mystic sea; 
Oli, say, when its waters are parted 

Will he wait on the bright shore for me? 

(Soprano Chorus.) 

Will he wait— will he wait, 

Will he wait in life's twilight for me? 

Will he wait — will he wait, 

Will he wait on that shore for me? 

(Basso Chorus.) 

Yes, thy darling will be waitinc, 

O'er the strange and silent river, 

Waiting in life's twilight for thee, 

When over soft and rippling waters, 

Angels come to bear thee over, 

He will wait on that bright shore for thee. 



